


Bad For Dean

by deawrites



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Adult Content, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Explicit Language, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Past Child Abuse, Pre-Season/Series 01, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sibling Incest, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-28
Updated: 2017-04-30
Packaged: 2018-06-04 18:52:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 38,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6670720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deawrites/pseuds/deawrites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean is raped and Sam has to pick up the pieces.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Bad For Dean: Direct Aftermath of the Event

**Author's Note:**

> There will be Wincest after the healing. The rape event will come to light for the reader as the memories surface for Dean. Please if rape is a trigger for you consider reading something else, or skip the italicized portions of this work
> 
> As always thank you to my muse and wife, Cokie.
> 
> Comments, suggestions, praise and criticisms welcome.

At nineteen Dean Winchester didn’t feel invincible like most young men his age. He knew about the dark things in the shadows, the evil that lurked in supernatural skins all over the world.  Granted his world thus far had only ever consisted of the United States, yet if he could overcome his fear of flying and secure weapons on the ground once he landed, he wasn’t averse to the idea of hunting internationally.  Because he knew about the creatures that saw humanity as a food source he accepted that his last breath could come at any given moment. Living; being mortal; was temporary. Perhaps death as well; but since no one had ever returned to report what was around the corner, Dean chose to live like the world was ending with the next sweep of the second hand on the clock.

 

Dean was so confident in his ability to thwart the supernatural monsters, that he forgot the worst of evil resided in the human race.  As a gold standard he didn’t trust people outright, but there were a few exceptions: his little brother Sam, his father John, and a hand full of Hunters he had met through his father’s travels. Hunters in general were given a cursory nod of approval and permitted to prove themselves worthy of trust. There was an unspoken code, particular universal experiences that bound the still active and living Hunters with others in the fold. Dean respected them for fighting the good fight but he understood that the reasons and methods of battle were as varied as the individuals involved.  Yet Hunters were a community, which he respected and felt slight kinship with those he interacted with.  It was that arrogance which caused Dean to lower his guard when he should have been suspicious as hell. The mistake of relaxing and disregarding John Winchester’s words of wisdom he usually cleaved to unfailingly, resulted in a catastrophic clash with reality. Once the damage was inflicted it didn’t matter why or how, only that Dean had made an error in judgement and it cost him more than he ever believed he was capable of giving.  After all, Hunters weren’t supposed to be the villains wearing duplicitous faces.

 

Every molecule of Dean’s body throbbed with searing pain. He knew he was medically in trouble and he needed to continue to force himself to move. Every shift of his body wracked him with anguish and he just wanted to lay where he was and bleed until unconsciousness took him. It threatened him every second that passed to cloak him in the suspension of darkness but onward he dragged his broken body through weeds, rocks and whatever else graced the ground around him.  His equilibrium was gyrating out of control and it was difficult to orient himself in directional relevance.  He heard a pitiful keening and realized the pathetic noise was coming from his raw throat.  He felt the salt of his tears burning his half lidded eyes as he forced himself silent.  The sound of the crickets and night surrounding him on all sides was overwhelming and for a moment deafened him to thought.  Sam; his little brother; would probably have something to say about the blasted things; either poetic or scientific. He never knew with that kid what would come out of his mouth, only that something would and it would be incredibly Sam.  Abruptly through the waves of pain Dean couldn’t help but feel a little spike of pride about how awesome his beloved brother was.  **_Sam_** … He needed Sam. Dean fought to open his eyes and scanned the ground ahead of him. In the dimness of the night he thought he saw his jacket laying a few meters to his right.  Squinting he confirmed the shape was indeed his leather, John hand me down jacket, and exhaled thankfully.

 

It took Dean about ten minutes of sporadic crawling before he reached the jacket. His body forced him to halt and regather his strength every few minutes before he could continue his mission. It took another two minutes to fish his cell phone out of an inner pocket. By the time he flipped the shell open his head was spinning and he was partially on his back. It was more difficult to breathe like that but he didn’t have the energy to roll over onto his side or stomach. Depressing the well-worn speed dial number one, the opposite line barely rung twice before his little brother quietly answered.

 

“ ** _S-ammy_** …” Was all Dean could manage before bile filled his throat, searing him like the sun and he vomited up upon himself. He struggled to roll on to his side to prevent further choking, gasped sharply and groaned reflexively in pain.

 

On the opposite end of the call Sam was instantly alert and oddly prescient.  He refrained from throwing a barrage at questions at Dean. All the fifteen-year-old merely asked was: “Can you tell me where you are?”

 

Dean weakly rasped. “S-ammy….”

 

“Don’t hang up. I’m coming to get you.”

 

Dean had never been so grateful his little brother was a genius than he was at this instant.  If anyone were capable of locating him with nothing to go on but a frantic phone call, it was his Sam.  His beautiful, beautiful, exceedingly brilliant kid, and little brother Sammy.

 

“I have Baby’s keys and I’ll call Dad- “

 

“ ** _No_**!” Dean rasped as forcefully and loudly as he could. His voice was barely above a whisper but by Sam’s next words he knew that the message was received.  Dean’s eyes squinted shut; the throbbing within his skull matching the rapid pounding of his heart. He couldn’t face John; not now; not after his disappointing loss of this assault.

 

“I’m on my way De, just hang on. Don’t leave me you hear me? I’m coming to get you.”

 

The only response Dean could give was to exhale.  Sam would be with him soon enough.  Darkness hovered above him like a physical presence and Dean felt incredibly cold.

~~~~~

Hacking into the service provider website to track Dean’s cell phone location had been easy; the difficult part had been not to break so many traffic laws on his way to his older brother that anyone would notice and call the police.  Sam was a very confident driver. Dean had been teaching him since he was around twelve years old to drive. The vehicle they’d used was the black, 1967 Chevy Impala their Dad had bequeathed Dean on his sixteenth birthday, affectionately titled Baby. Sam was comfortable behind her wheel even though he spent most of his time in her passenger seat now days. He and Dean had been raised in the back seat from tots to teens and Baby was the one constant in Sam’s entire life that wasn’t Dean.  Everything else, everyone else was transitory. As long as Sam could count on Dean being there, he would forgive Baby her absence when the time came that her tires would turn no more. Right now however she was powerful, fast and eating up the asphalt acting as ambulance and beacon of hope combined.

 

Nearly half an hour later Dean was dragged out of unconsciousness by Sam’s frantic summons.  He could see an undefined silhouette when he opened his eyes, for a few seconds blinded by excessive light flooding his face and Sam, beautiful, baby brother Sam, was kneeling beside him. He attempted to speak, to put his younger sibling at ease that he was alive but no sound was forth coming. He tentatively reached out a hand and found it clasped within the heat of one of Sam’s for a split second before those hands were moving again, checking him for injuries.  Dean cringed realizing his throat was closing up and his chest was tightening. He couldn’t take a deep breath and he was panicking because of it.  Sam was spouting continuous laments of adoration and reassurance in attempts to calm Dean. He raised his older brother’s head and placed it upon his lap and stroked Dean’s hair, cradling him a little to his abdomen.

 

“It’s okay, De. I got you. I got you. S’all right. I’m here. Just breathe, okay? Breathe.” He placed a flattened palm upon Dean’s breast plate just below his clavicle. “Feel my hand? Just relax and try to push it up on your inhale. Lower it slowly on the exhale; longer than you breathe in. Okay? I: got you big brother. I got you.”

 

Dean’s eyes were blinded by tears, light and he was overwhelmed with raging emotions. Dean felt fear rise and sobs lodge in his chest. He didn’t release them; not yet; he would scare Sam if he fell apart. However, he was so relieved to see his brother that knew he would live through the night. Later he would question his relief at this thought, yet for now he was overtaken by muddled joy.

 

“S’all right De.” Sam cooed softly fighting to keep his voice from trembling. “I’m here.  I wanna get you on your feet, can you do that? Do you think you can stand for me?”

 

Dean nodded out of reflex rather than any physical ability. He could deny Sam nothing yet as Sam helped him sit up the world lurched and Dean vomited once more, nearly spraying Sam in the process. Thankfully he missed and Sam grabbed his face in his hands, leveling it so their eyes could lock. The world continued to spin out of control and Dean couldn’t focus his gaze.

 

“There’s allot of blood on the back of your head. You’re concussed. I’m gonna move the car closer so it’ll be easier to lift you in her, okay?” Sam’s warm palms smoothed Dean’s cheeks and the side of his head. He felt dry lips press to his forehead and he couldn’t will his fingers to release Sam’s wrist.

 

“N, -o…”

 

“De,” Sam reasoned pressing his lips to the shell of Dean’s right ear and whispering.  “Twelve or thirteen seconds okay? You can count them off and I’ll be back. I promise you. I promise.”

 

Sam’s voice surrounded Dean and touched him everywhere like receding fog. He wanted to hold it in his hands, cling to the sound and solidness of his little brother’s frame but Sam was gone.  Swaying for a breath or two Dean slumped over and mentally began counting.  He heard the distorted sound of Baby’s engine and by the time he reached nine Sam’s voice and presence had returned.

 

“See? Not so bad huh? Gonna sit you up again. Ready?”  The world lurched to the left and Dean struggled to comply with Sam’s urging direction.

 

Dean wasn’t positive if he was standing or not, but he was leaning heavily upon the heat of Sam’s body. The kid ran hot and Dean heard him huffing and puffing with effort between reassuring words.  Dean attempted to close his hand around Sam’s shirt but instead he recognized the slick feel of heated metal beneath his palm. Baby? Was he leaning against her?

 

“De,” Sam’s trembling voice began, “hold still. I have to pull your jeans up.”

 

Dean’s knees buckled as he felt Sam’s fingers near his hips, then push his cock downward into boxer briefs and denim. The shame of reality caught him tersely in the throat and Dean willed his fingers to work to aid his little brother in dressing him.  Sam patiently maneuvered Dean’s hands out of the way and fastened the jeans in silence.

 

“C’mon.” He comforted with a steadier voice. “Let’s get you in bac- “

 

“No.” Dean refused clinging to the passenger side windshield with a hand.

 

“Okay.” Sam permitted.  He kept Dean standing up right by pinning him between his own body and the car fender.  “Front it is.” He yanked open the door and slung Dean’s arm around his shoulders. He dragged him the last few steps before depositing him as gently as possible into the passenger seat.  He had to help Dean fold his legs up into the car before closing the door and running around the front of it to the driver’s side.

 

Dean slumped in the seat and closed his eyes. The radio was off all he could hear was the sound of Baby’s engine and Sam’s rapid breathing.  He didn’t know how long they rode in silence until Sam tenderly addressed him with tears in his voice.

 

“You need to go to the hospital.”  Dean groaned and Sam snapped, “Don’t argue with me on this! It’s my job to access medical emergencies and I’m telling you, I can’t tape, or suture up your injuries. You’re gonna need a CT scan for your head, and about a dozen other things and, and,” Sam paused and took a deep breath as his knuckles turned white upon the steering wheel.  “De, please. Listen to me.”

 

Dean nodded slightly and reached out with his hand across the seat. Sam choked on a sob and closed his hand around his brother’s.

 

“It’s gonna be okay.” Sam vowed tenderly. “I’m gonna take of you. Just like you always take care of me. All right?”

 

Dean couldn’t answer but he squeezed Sam’s hand gently.

~~~~~

There was no question in Sam’s mind that he had done right by his brother in his handling of their current situation.  The hospital had been a necessity and once Dean was admitted and settled into a hospital room on the fourth floor did Sam have the opportunity to second guess what ifs and might have beens.  Waiting outside in the emergency ward lobby while Dean was examined had been sheer torture for him.  Yet after that was completed and a CT scan taken, Sam had been allowed to stand or sit by the bed and hold Dean’s hand as they awaited blood test and scan results.  The doctors and nurses had been quite professional and respectful of what little shards of Dean’s dignity remained, but Sam knew that John Winchester was going to bring another dimension to the situation that would be counterproductive.  There was a large part of him that hoped his father wouldn’t answer his phone, or be located by the police tonight.

 

As Dean was not minor child protective services were not involved. The police were called however to investigate the battery and sexual assault.  Sam did most of the talking with what little information he knew. Dean said next to nothing as his throat was raw and he was mildly sedated.  No one could refute the fact that Sam’s big brother had been beaten and raped by perpetrator(s) at large.  Sam had called John after the police tried and his call had gone straight to voice mail.  Sam was now positive that John was with some woman hooking up and sleeping it off in her bed. He knew that if the police ever caught up with his father this night, John would come barreling down the hall ways of the hospital screaming for his sons until he either found them or was subdued. Either way it was a farce Sam wasn’t looking forward too and Dean didn’t need. His brother was in a fragile state as it was and all Sam could do was sit and keep a worried vigil at his bedside.

 

Dean had refused to be subjected to a rape kit to collect trace evidence, nor had he wished to talk to the police or the hospital psychiatrist on shift.  He merely wanted his wounds tended and information given to him about said wounds, and then he wanted to leave the hospital.  Yet due to the nature of his injuries he wasn’t going anywhere for several days. While this didn’t sit well with Dean, Sam knew it would resonate less so with their father.  John Winchester had forever preached to the boys to avoid authority figures especially those of law enforcement.  He hammered into each of them that one blip on official radar and the family was separated for good. Or at least until Sam and Dean came of legal age and could be released from foster homes or facilities. John had a strict policy of lying and knowing back stories that were so convincing they could worm their way out of any bind. Only now that Dean was in the hospital there was no rebuking the truth.

 

Sam knew his father would want to escape at first light but that Dean needed to stay put for the moment and heal.  He needed to supersede his father’s desires and do what was right for Dean.  Sam rang a family friend and Winchester brother’s surrogate father figure, Bobby Singer.  The Boys had known the South Dakota Hunter since their childhoods and trusted him implicitly.  Dialing Bobby’s number had been far easier than starting the conversation.  Sam fought against choking tears and managed to maintain detached calm he didn’t feel, for the duration of the call. He explained that Dean was hurt and would be hospitalized for a few days and that afterward he wanted to bring Dean to Bobby’s home to recuperate.  Bobby eagerly agreed, and Sam promised him that he would remain in close contact as details arose.  When Bobby attempted to illicit injury details from Sam, that was when the fifteen-year-old broke down a little in tears and promised to answer those questions another time. Thankfully Bobby allowed the subject to drop. Sam hang up and returned to Dean’s room in order to sit vigil over his sleeping brother.

 

Sam had dozed off at some point during the predawn hours and was awakened by a nurse checking and charting Dean’s vitals and his saline I.V. bag and throw out the empty antibiotic bag. She gave Sam a sympathetic smile and asked him if he wanted a blanket, Sam politely declined and got up to use the private bathroom.  He washed his face with cold water and stared at his dripping reflection in the mirror for several seconds. Dean was going to need Sam to be strong. He was going to have to be Dean’s champion against John Winchester’s instinct to run. Dean continuously kowtowed to John’s will but Sam knew that this time he couldn’t.  Dean needed to remain in the hospital for the next few days for the fissures in his rectum to heal a little before leaving the doctor’s care.  While John might not readily accept that situation, Sam would be damned if he would allow the man to bully Dean into submission. It wasn’t a high temperature or broken bone; this was trauma that reached far beyond the physical. Dean needed his family’s support and love, not shouted orders that were counterproductive to his health.  It was times like these that Sam seriously question his loyalty and affection towards his father and was tempted to hate the man.

 

The paper towel was rough on his skin but the sensation wasn’t painful.  Knowing that Dean had been beaten and raped, and not being able to do anything about it was what profoundly pained him.  Dean hadn’t said anything about the person or people responsible for the assault.  He claimed that the memories were surrounded in a haze and inaccessible to him.  Memory loss was a common side effect of a severe concussion.  His memory could return anywhere from a few hours to never according to the treating physician.  Sam could live with Dean never being able to recall the events of this night, yet what he could not shoulder was never knowing who was responsible, and them escaping his and Dean’s wrath.  Sam exhaled after wiping his face dry, and tossed the damp paper into the garbage.  He headed back into the room and Dean’s bedside. His older brother lay partially on his right side facing Sam, eyes closed and head bandaged from the application of stitches earlier.  His breathing was even and Sam gently stroked Dean’s hand before taking it in his own, careful not to touch the I.V. entry point.

 

“I’m here, De.” Sam murmured softly.  “I have your back okay? You just sleep.”  He hoped that Dean wasn’t dreaming and merely resting.

~~~~~

When the blackness began to recede, out of habit Dean began to catalogue his physical aches pains.  Yet his list quickly halted when they became too numerous and overwhelming, like a freight train off of its rails.  Something had happened; something horrific and he knew it wasn’t a hunt gone wrong, but something far more sinister.  As his mind cleared of sleep a little more one word abruptly flashed within Dean’s mind; rape.  He struggled to swallow and wet his mouth and throat, the pain it wrought a stern reminder of his humiliation and defilement. Dean desperately wanted the throbbing of his head to cease so he could assess his environment.  He winced as a spasm lit his rectum on fire, and his eyes snapped open to register his father standing a few feet away by the window with Sam. Sam somehow looked like he was towering over John, and both males were angry and gesturing to the bed between hurtling words at one another.  Fighting; John and Sam were forever butting heads and Dean knew that regardless of his current state he was the only referee.

 

“S, Sammy? Dad?”

 

At the raspy summons from the hospital bed Sam’s eyes lit upon Dean in an instant while John’s were a tad hesitant.

 

“De? You’re awake!” Sam was at his side in an instant touching his face and holding his hand.  “Don’t try to move or talk much. It’s okay. I’m here.”

 

Sam grunted as John stepped into his personal space and physically moved him aside. While John didn’t sever his son’s union of hands, he reached out and cradled Dean’s cheek in his palm, gaze damp as he smiled down at his eldest child.

 

“Hi Son. How? How’re you feeling?”

 

“Shitty.” Dean stated wondering at how sleep deprived, hung over and old his father appeared to him in this very moment. He looked like he could use about a decade of sleep and a few meals to make a dent in the fatigue he shouldered.  Dean cleared his throat to steady his tone and instantly regretted his decision.  His throat was raw and Dean didn’t feel the need to contemplate too deeply upon the why.

 

John’s smile broadened at Dean’s pronouncement, moved his hand from his cheek to gently patted his oldest son’s shoulder instead.  “Shitty’s still fighting, so I’m glad to hear that.” He straightened his form and drew his gaze up and down Dean’s prone form assessing.  “Think you’re ready to get rolling after breakfast?” He didn’t feel it was necessary to remind Dean that doctors had involved the police, nor that all of them were asking questions that John knew were far too dangerous to answer.

 

“Are you fucking kidding me? Dad!” Sam snapped interjecting.  “Did you not hear a word I said? Or what the doctor told you? Dean **_can’t_** travel right now, and he needs to stay here, period the end. If you want to leave, then fine. Go! But Dean and I are staying here until the doctors discharge him, then we’re going to Bobby’s so he can recuperate the rest of the way.”

 

“Watch your tone with me Sam!” John groused turning to face his youngest.  “This isn’t about what I want; it’s about staying out of the line of fire!  The police are- “

 

“Bullshit!” Sam hissed squeezing Dean’s hand to reassure him that he had his back.  “The police can’t do anything because Dean won’t give a statement or accuse anyone. Since he’s over eighteen there’s no case if he remains quiet and you know that. And the doctors? You know damn well all they can do is treat and street, so your ‘concern’ over us attracting attention, is just another prime example of you being paranoid and catching Dean and I in the cross fire; **_again_**!”

 

John seized Sam by the scruff of his shirt, one hand wound tightly in the fabric and the opposite one clenched in a hair trigger fist.  “You watch your attitude boy. I am your father and you are legally my responsibility for the next three years.  So show me some goddamned respect!”

 

Sam’s jaw jutted outward in challenge and his gaze narrowed. He was not afraid of his father in the least, he heard Dean softly rasp his name and he ran his thumb over the back of his brother’s hand.

 

“Go ahead John. Hit me. You were the one who told Dean and I that respect is earned not freely granted so keep your platitudes to yourself.  Dean is going to stay right where he is, because it’s what’s best for him right now, and nothing you say, or threaten is going to change that fact.”

 

Whatever John was or wasn’t going to say was interrupted by the arrival of the nurse with Dean’s liquid breakfast.  Glaring at Sam, John moved away from the bed to pace by the window, while Sam settled in beside Dean to try and get him to eat a little something.  He caught Dean’s wet gaze and returned it with a tender smile and stroked his cheek with the backs of his knuckles gently.  He mouthed, “I got you” and winked to punctuate the vow.  Sam was not about to allow John to dictate Dean’s health care when he wasn’t capable of advocating it himself.  It was an unspoken rule that Sam held that position of proxy and he was not about to be bullied into relenting it, John Winchester’s wrath be damned.

~~~~~

While the Sigmoidoscopy had ruled out any need for rectal surgery, it was going to be a painful road to recovery for Dean. Six weeks: approximately six weeks; give or take; for the anal fissures to heal.  Dean would have to soak in a hot bath, ten to twenty minutes several times a day, especially after a bowel movement.  He was on a strict liquid and high fiber diet for the time being.  He would have to be hyper vigilant about keeping his rectal area clean, and apply a nitroglycerin ointment numerous times a day to increase blood flow to the region and decrease spasms. As if that wasn’t bad enough, Dean had to take a round of antibiotics to be rid of a chlamydia STD door prize.  Not only did he have to follow up with possibly another Sigmoidoscopy once healed, he also had to undergo two more HIV screenings within the next six months.

 

In all Dean was incarcerated for four days in the hospital.  The entire Winchester clan was quite relieved when he was finally discharged.  Even though Dean had spent most of his time sleeping he had been well cognizant of the fact that Sam was at his bedside keeping watch.  Whenever John visited the tension in the room ratcheted up to an overwhelming degree, his little brother and father all too eager to tear out each other’s throats in advocacy on Dean’s behalf.  Whenever Dean played referee both male’s had the decency to look admonished and halt their battle for a few minutes of peace. Short lived as it was, John usually either ended storming out of the room or being verbally shoved out by Sam.  It escalated to the point that the nursing staff abruptly had to do all their charting and medicating of Dean during John’s sporadic visits.

 

Dean continually refused the hospital staff’s urgings to talk to the psychiatrist about what caused his injuries. Realistically he understood that the doctor and nurses on the floor knew exactly what had placed him in their care, but he didn’t want to think about that. In fact, Dean didn’t want to think about anything but sleeping off his physical pain.  When the day of his release finally donned, an exhausted Sam settled him in the backseat of the Impala in a nest of blankets and pillows so he could lay upon his stomach or on his sides for the duration of the journey to Bobby’s.  John accompanied them half way to Sioux Falls South Dakota, only to issue a stiff, uncomfortable farewell at a rest stop before heading out on a new case. Whether the supernatural creature had anything to do with the Yellow Eyed Demon and Mary Winchester’s death, John never said and Dean didn’t bother asking. In fact, Dean hadn’t said much since the night of his attack.  Sam respected Dean’s privacy for the moment and was content to either chat or sit in a comfortable silence, whichever Dean seemed to require.  In the back of Dean’s mind however, he knew his inquisitive little brother was vibrating with need to ask about the identity of the assailants and press for details of the traumatic event that now branded his older sibling. While he hadn’t asked anything of Dean, he knew it was coming because once they reached Bobby’s the man **_would_** ask, because that was Bobby’s personality.

 

Dean was not looking forward to allowing another person into the shameful fold of his secret.  Dean could not remember details of the moments before and after the assault due to the severity of his head trauma.  Be that as it may, his subconscious appeared to savor in reliving the event.  He was consumed with the vague knowledge of seeing, hearing, smelling and tasting that night as every fiber of his being thrummed with it.  His life was once more cleaved into a ‘before and after’ visage of existence, as it had first been with Mary Winchester’s death so long ago. Sam was beside him every step of the way and while Dean was thankful for his reassuring presence he knew that not only his beloved brother couldn’t understand the scope of Dean’s pain, but that he didn’t want Sam to have to.  While Sam was eager to help him carry the crux of the load now upon Dean’s shoulders, his rape was one more thing that Dean wished to carry on his own. Why they didn’t have a mother, why they moved around so much, and what exactly did John Winchester do for a living were questions that paled in comparison to the brutality that Dean shielded Sam from.

 

Either Dean had underestimated Bobby’s observational skills or Sam had confessed the truth, but in a matter of twenty-four hours of arriving at Singer Salvage Yard, Dean realized that Bobby knew.  It was difficult for Dean to sit for any length of time, the inflatable donut or gel cushion he used bringing him no true relief. For now, he either lay on his side or belly on the couch in the living room or on the queen bed upstairs in the room that he and Sam shared whenever they visited their gruff friend.  Dean was relieved that Bobby hadn’t asked him anything directly yet regarding his injuries, but he had difficulty meeting the older Hunter’s gaze either way.  He couldn’t look at John either, but Sam? There were times when Dean had to force himself to make eye contact for if he didn’t he feared Sam would become moody and verbally petulant from what he viewed as rejection from his brother.  To keep the peace Dean held gazes a few times a day with Sam, regardless of the amount of shame that shown in his eyes, or sympathy and pity swimming within Sam’s.

 

The third day of their visitation, Sam followed behind Dean as he walked around the salvage yard, taking in the sunshine and attempting to learn to walk with a causal stride. At the moment he was failing and it was obvious that walking brought him pain, so he limped and waddled, hands fisting at his sides in frustration. It was going to take time to heal and every day that passed was one too many within Dean’s estimation. He wanted to put both his physical and mental injuries behind him.  He knew that Sam was following him at a distance the younger Winchester believed to be respectful, but when Dean stopped to rest in the shade of a crushed pile of three cars he beckoned softly to his brother.

 

“You that hot you want to walk in my shadow all day, Sammy?”

 

Sam moved to Dean’s side and pushed his own hands into his pockets before responding.  “It’s seventy-six degrees Dean. Not hot at all.”

 

Dean grunted and squinted his eyes a little as he scanned the familiar horizon before locking gazes with Sam.  “How many weapons you got on you right now?”

 

Sam shrugged his left shoulder sheepishly.  “Four; three knives and my Taurus.”

 

Dean exhaled a mocking whistle.  “Expecting trouble there Kevin Costner?”

 

“No Whitney, but I’m not taking any chances.”

 

Dean sighed and scrubbed a hand down his face.  “Even at Bobby’s?”

 

Sam glanced around before pushing at a washer in the dirt by Dean’s right foot with his sneaker tip.  “Even at Bobby’s.”  Sam chewed on his bottom lip for a moment and looked at Dean’s downcast eyes.  “This is the most you’ve said to me in a week and a half Dean. I miss you.”

 

Dean said nothing and pushed at the washer now that Sam had finished with it.

 

“You know you’re my world De. And I’ll do anything for you.”

 

“I know.” Dean stopped covering the washer with dirt and patted it flat.

 

“I think when you’re feeling better you and I should hunt down the guys who- “

 

“Sammy,” Dean warned as his jaw clenched and stomach knotted up around the base of his spine. He could feel his heart beating within his throat and his vision was graying a little at the edges.  “I can’t remember- “

 

“Well when you **_do_** ,” Sam interrupted obviously certain of Dean’s recall ability to snap back online.  “they need to pay for what they did. That’s all I meant.”

 

It was difficult for Dean to swallow around the lump lodged in his throat.  “Sammy…”

 

“I know, Dean.” Sam assured dropping the subject for his older brother’s sake.  “I’m sorry but, I needed you to know that.” Dean nodded and turned to begin walking once more. Sam watched him carefully stride away and flinched inwardly at the change in his brother’s gait.  He missed Dean’s confident strut and hoped that it would return once his physical body had healed. There was no telling how long it would take the emotional wounds to close up; especially if Dean refused to talk about them.  Electing to grant Dean more adjustment time Sam followed him at a five step distance as they continued their walk around the salvage yard.

 

Sam wondered if Dean would ever feel safe again, not that either one of them ever really had.  Still, he could hope and act as protector to his older sibling while he recovered from the rape.  The word made Sam’s cheeks burn with anger and he felt something dark coil in his gut and harden his spine. While he didn’t condone murder of humans as a rule, this situation spanned far beyond his means to forgive and forget.  A man; or group of men; savaged his brother. Dean was Sam’s world, his reason for existence, his greatest confidant and love. The mere thought that anyone could hurt him without reaping repercussions was something that Sam could not abide. He demanded justice; he wanted him or them found, tortured and executed by his hand and Dean’s. Whoever this man; or men were; they had chosen the wrong family to fuck with and Sam would not be denied his vengeance. For now, however Dean needed his understanding and care. Once his older brother was capable of telling Sam about the events surrounding that night he would free his bloodlust.

 

Sam had already interrogated John during Dean’s hospitalization, as thoroughly as he could and as much as his father would permit. He knew little except that he and Dean had gone to a bar called ‘The Shark League’ and had a few drinks.  They had parted ways when John found a woman interested in his companionship for the night, and Dean remained behind to chat up a couple of blonds out for a girls’ only evening.  Sam knew he would have to find a way to get back to the Nebraskan bar and question the bartender(s), and that the longer he waited to do so the more likely it was Dean would be forgotten by the staff. But he couldn’t leave South Dakota or Dean, so he contemplated sending Bobby. That in itself was problematic for it meant he would have to confess what happened to Dean and it wasn’t his story to tell.  Torn, Sam elected to focus himself on Dean and Dean alone. There was only so much Sam could do as a bystander when he knew he was capable of so much more.

~~~~~

Every night his anxiousness grew.  He could feel the weight of the dark, his tired body and mind inching towards unconsciousness and his vigilance broke.  This was the time that the shards of fractured memory punched through his defenses.  He would remember in a flash, his entire body reacting to the images as if they were occurring right at that moment and not a projection of the past. They were worse than physical blows because they were intangible, yet he felt them acutely and physically in the now.  It was becoming increasingly difficult to hide their rise from Sam and in some sense Bobby as well.  They were bound to ask questions but thus far both males had left him be.  He felt like he was in a perpetual loop of waiting for the other shoe to drop, this or that to be asked of him, and for his memories to completely surface.  As terrifying as this flux was he couldn’t predict when everything would all come crashing down around him.

 

Sam’s gaze never wavered or left him. His presence was steadfast and solid at his side or back.  His little brother wasn’t letting him out of his sight and while a small part of Dean wished to rebel against such attention, he was grounded by the anchor that Sam’s presence offered.  Sam alone had seen him at his worst and therefore was the only person in existence that Dean could count on. Everyone else he mistrusted regardless of how fondly he once had loved them.  It was impossible for Dean to sever his trust and love of his little brother, a boy he had practically raised on his own, as his own since Sam was six months old. Everyone else he could hold at arm’s length from now on but never Sam.  No matter how broken Dean had become he would always reach out for his baby brother for salvation.  Sam was the one good, pure thing in Dean’s nomadic and chaotic life. Especially when Dean felt as far from untainted as a person could possibly be.

 

Dean lay awake in the darkness, eyes open to the ceiling, ears pricked by the symphony of crickets outside of the window. He detested the sound now when only a few short weeks ago he barely noticed them, or used them as a white noise lullaby.  Beside him Sam was on the mattress, back to him, breath even and soft. Dean felt like his entire body was shaking apart from the inside out. His head thundered with every tight breath and he swallowed, pulling his lips into his mouth and willing himself to remain silent.  All he wanted to do was scream into the room and scrabble into a corner to hide from the thoughts that plagued him. He heard a distant voice speak inside of his mind and he physically cringed at the sound.

 

_“Ever seen a live crocotta, Deano?” Dean hadn’t and was only moderately familiar with the lore._

_“They mimic dogs or people don’t they?”_

_“Yep.” Jerry said before swallowing a shot of whiskey and motioning to Dean to take another from the grouping on the pool table ledge.  “Cry wolf like people or dogs to lure them to the slaughter. Eat ‘em right then and there. Only way to kill them is sever the spine.” Jerry glanced from Dean to Hank and back again. “Got one caged. We were hoping there was more of them around, but looks like it’s just the one. Wanna see it?”_

_At this point Sam would have probably interjected where the creature originated from, some place like India or Ethiopia, but he was at the hotel probably using the time to read something gripping or wank off to porn. Dean’s lips felt a little rubbery at the next shot of liquor he downed but the thought of seeing a creature up close that he had only read about was just far too enticing.  Dean couldn’t help smirking at the knowledge and for a split second he wished that Sam were with him to talk to the other two Hunters. He was quite confident that his little brother could school them all on the abilities of and expunging of crocotta that they were previously unaware. Sammy was just that amazing and Dean licked his lips, barely noticing the tingling had spread to his cheeks and throat now. Hard liquor had never had that effect on him but he was far too busy enjoying himself to question it.  Yeah, Sammy was super awesome and Hank and Jerry were just two poor souls doomed to never know his kid’s greatness._

_Dean wet his bottom lip, green eyes shining in the dimness of the bar. “Yeah. I wanna see it.” Jerry laughed and struck a hand against Hank’s shoulder. Hank looked away with derisive shake of the head that at the time Dean didn’t question._

 

In the dark bedroom Dean released his lips from his mouth and pressed his flattened hands over his face. He didn’t want to scream; couldn’t because waking up Sam now would just be cruel. Every watchdog needed their rest eventually and Dean needed Sam to be on his A game when the time came and his façade crumbled to ashes.  The gray pitch of the room felt like a physical presence, pressing down around every inch of Dean and he started shaking.  Little tremors at first that mounted and Dean covered his mouth with one hand and gripped his t-shirt with the other forcing himself to remain silent. He felt his temperature rise, his heart beat race upward and the new added weight of perspiration as it prickled his flesh.  Everything was tunneling and he clamped his eyes shut to contain the visuals behind his eyes.  He didn’t realize that Sam had moved until he heard his sleep tinged voice at his right ear.

 

“Dean?”

 

At the sound Dean bolted up right and threw his legs over the side of the mattress, barely feeling the scratchy area rug that lay under and around the bed.  He dropped his hand from his mouth and gasped for air, his chest constricting so tightly he felt that it would choke his heart to pulp within his shattered rib cage.  He gripped the mattress edge with his hands, fingers white knuckled and rigid, and began to rock back and forth before he realized he was even up right.  Sam moved up behind him and to one side, on his knees and placing his steadying hands upon his older brother’s shoulders.

 

“It’s okay, De. I’m here. S’okay. I got you.” He slid one of his hands down to rub wide circles over Dean’s back and shoulder blades.  “Breathe. I’m right here. Listen to my breath and synchronize yours to it, okay? It’s all right.”

 

Dean shook his head and barely formed the word ‘no’ before gasping for air and panicking further. Sam pressed against him then, his body heat like a thermal reactor exploding over an ice berg but Dean felt his body respond, open a little to Sam’s offered comfort and security.  His eyes screwed shut tight as his lips fell open and he began to pant, hyperventilating from the onslaught of an abrupt memory.

 

_“There, Deano.”  Jerry huffed in Dean’s right ear.  “Nice ‘n wide open… Mmm yeah. You needed my cock up you didn’t ya, princess?”  Jerry’s thrusts were unrelenting, but slower than before and Dean’s back bowed downward as his prostate was stimulated with every deep, headlong push of Jerry’s hips.  Without the pummeling of his prostate there was only pain and Dean knew he was bleeding, knew that his body was being torn open with his attempts to expel his rapist from his body._

_This wasn’t happening. A moan passed from Dean’s lips that resembled pleasure enough for Dean to drop his head forward in shame. The world momentarily exploded in white hot agony and his equilibrium lurched and spun.  After who knew how long he surfaced within his body and the occasional spark of endorphins in pleasure. No; he didn’t want this; hadn’t asked for it; and his traitorous body couldn’t stop trembling now that Jerry’s dick was aligned perfectly against his prostate._

_“Knew you wanted me Deano. Knew you needed a good fucking t’put you to rights.” Jerry moaned and bit Dean’s back hard enough to bruise but not break the skin.  “So open and you love it don’t you Deano? Love **my** cock opening you up to burstin’ like the little, fuck starved, cunt you are.”_

 

Dean hated and loathed the rape and Jerry even more.  It had besmirched him, marked him for life as a victim and Dean Winchester was supposed to be a hero, never the broken. The last bit of resistance to the flood of denial shattered and Dean leaned into his Sammy and breathlessly began to sob. At first silently and then with sporadic keens of grief.  Sam held him in both arms, stroked his hair and uttered tender reassurances to him, silently willing his older brother to mirror his own deep, slow breaths.

 

“It’s okay, De. I’ve got you. You’re here with me. I’ve got knives on the nightstand, a sawed off between it and the bed, and my Taurus underneath my pillow. It’s all right. No one is here but us and Bobby.” Although he didn’t reveal it to Dean there were no salt rounds in the sawed off this time, but incendiary shells.  Sam peppered a few quick kisses upon Dean’s sweat dampened hair. “It’s just you and me. I promise. Okay De? Just us.”

 

Dean gulped clung to Sam as his body threatened to shake apart. He wanted to speak to him, to tell him; well not to be frightened and that he was sorry for crying like a chick; but the words remained lodged somewhere in his rib cage and silent. Dean panted and cried, clinging to Sam for dear life; he closed his eyes and wished he could dissolve into Sam’s skin. He would be safe there; away from his own memories and secure within his little brother’s care.

 

Sam held Dean and glanced over his shoulder at the open door and hallway when a light come on. Bobby moved to stand in the threshold a few seconds later but Sam shook his head. It was better if he handled Dean alone for now. Bobby nodded in silent agreement and disappeared back down the hallway, the light clicking off seconds after his departure. Sam rubbed his chin on the crown of Dean’s head, scenting him in a way, soothing with claiming behavior that for some reason his older brother had always responded too.  Sam tightened his arms around Dean feeling the older teen press further down into the cradle of his arms. He sensed that Dean wanted to disappear and he wished he could just pull his sibling into his lap and cuddle him like an infant.  Never mind that Dean was too tall and broad for that; not as tall as Sam was even at fifteen, but still too large for such feats.  Sam waited patiently as slowly Dean’s body synchronized their breathing pattern and the tears and sobs diminished to silent huffs of air upon his bare forearms.  It was going to be a long night for them both.

~~~~~

Sam knelt on the bathmat beside the bathtub. He dragged a hand through the steaming water along the length of Dean’s left thigh and then allowed the water to drip from his fingers and tips down the corresponding side of Dean’s neck.  His older brother rested in the bath, a washcloth half floating, half submerged over his genitalia. Dean had never been prudish regarding his nudity, in fact it seemed to be his natural state as far as Sam knew; but that was before the rape. Now Dean wouldn’t so much as take his shirt off in front of anyone and only on rare occasions before Sam. He figured that Dean was exhausted from his prior crying jag and only permitting this intimacy now because he couldn’t bear the thought of being alone.  Not that Sam could blame him; he was grateful for being allowed anywhere near his brother especially now that he had shown such vulnerability in his presence.

 

Dean opened his eyes and looked at Sam. He was thankful that the younger teen just granted him a loving upturn of his lips and remained silent.  Sam; his beautiful Sammy; somehow knew what Dean needed and when to fulfill those same requirements.  He loved his little brother; for all intents and purposes his child; more than he could ever articulate.  Words hadn’t yet been created to explain the fathomless emotions that gripped him whenever he thought about Sam.  Mustering a tired smile of his own, Dean reached out and clasped Sam’s retreating hand.  Sam’s hazel gaze sparkled with blue flex and shinned brighter beneath the yellow glow of the bathroom lights.

 

“How can you stand it?”

 

Confusion furrowed Sam’s brow. “Stand what, De?”

 

“This.” Dean motioned to himself with his opposite hand.  Their unified touch shifted so that they could twine fingers.  Dean turned his profile to Sam. “I can’t hunt, I can’t research, I’m useless like this.”

 

“No.” Sam argued firmly though in a nonthreatening tone.  He shifted to move closer to the tub edge.  “In a short while you'll be better. You won’t need to soak, take medication, or stay on the sidelines anymore. Your body will be healed and then you hunt all you want.” Or not, but Sam was not about to give voice to Dean’s obvious fears that his abilities would never be the same, or lack efficiency somehow due to the trauma he endured.

 

Dean pinched the bridge of his nose with the opposite hand, before scrubbing it down over his mouth and back into the water.  He opened his eyes and looked at Sam, carefully withdrawing all physical contact with his brother.  Both hands now were submerged in the water.

 

“I’m not **_me_** anymore, Sam.”

 

Sam snorted in derision. “Yes you **_are_** , Dean. You’re still you. Yes, you need time to get better and yes, I understand that everything feels like it’s changed. Some things have, all right? I won’t deny that. But that said, you are still my big brother and Dean ‘badass motherfucker’ Winchester. And that will **_never_** change, De. Ever.”

 

Plaintively Dean gazed into Sam’s earnest expression. He loved his kid, his Sammy for never surrendering his unyielding belief in him. Loved him with the searing heat of a trillion suns. Yet he also recognized that, Sam was only fifteen and standing on the outside of the issue looking in. Of course he wanted Dean to be all right, to rise from the ashes and go on.  Sam loved his big brother, worshiped him in a way, and that was all well and good.  Yet Dean; being older; knew better than to invest such hope.  While it crushed him to disappoint Sam, he accepted that he would be doing his Baby Boy a disservice by allowing him to continue to believe in a fraud tattooed by lies.

 

Dean sighed wearily and drew a hand out of the water.  He reached out and placed his damp, left hand on the back of Sam’s neck.  He rubbed the soft flesh there before gently pulling Sam forward. He bent towards his little brother and pressed their foreheads together.

 

“I love you, Sammy.”

 

“I love you too, De.”

 

After several moments like that Dean released him and sat back in the tub, this time he sank further down in the water. His expression flinched in pain and Sam tensed for a split second reacting to the televised agony. Dean settled down, quickly schooled his expression and Sam relaxed as well.  Sam reached out to run his fingers through Dean’s hair from the forehead to the crown.  Dean loved to be petted in this manner and Sam would do anything to soothe Dean’s flayed nerves.

 

“S’okay Dean.” He assured in a whisper.

 

Dean closed his eyes and wished that it was.

~~~~~

A couple of hours after sunrise Bobby made Denver omelets with extra cheese for breakfast.  Dean gazed longingly at Sam and then Bobby’s plates, only to glance disgustedly at the smoothie Sam had prepared for him in the blender.  There was a slight pink tinge to the concoction and Dean wondered if it would have appealed more to his visual palate if the color were brown.  Just because things were brown didn’t necessarily mean they contained chocolate, and Dean was fairly certain that this smoothie had numerous vegetables in it.  It sucked that his diet was restricted to liquids and high fiber ones at that.  Sam had read up on nutrition and even talked to the hospital Nutritionist on staff while Dean was still incarcerated there.

 

Quintessential Sam was all about knowledge.  He researched the healthiest dietary elements for someone recovering from anal fissures.  He looked up the diagnosis and treatment of the affliction; as well as sever concussions; and was able to answer most questions Dean had without him having to go to a clinic and be seen by a physician.  Dean was fairly certain that Sam had also delved into research regarding male rape, statistics, societal viewpoints, psychological fall out, and treatment for emotional/spiritual recovery.  Thus far Sam had reported nothing of his findings and Dean was not about to ask.  The truth was that for now Dean’s memory was hazy about the entire incident.  As it surfaced in flashes and bits and pieces that is precisely how Dean elected to deal with the flotsam of debris carried in its wake.  Or not.  Dean found himself half wishing that his head trauma had been so severe that he would never recall that night again.

 

Dean raised spoonful upon spoonful of smoothie to his mouth and did his best not to taste it.  Sam’s sympathetic, puppy dog eyes from across the table made Dean want to yank the plate away from him and gobble the rest of the omelet down before Sam could stop him.  He hoped that after his scheduled follow up re-check at the clinic the doctor would permit him to begin adding soft foods to his diet.  While the smoothies were as flavor filled as they could be, they were still smoothies. Dean wanted solid food whenever he was forced to eat.  His appetite was hit and miss most days and he had lost a few pounds since arriving in Sioux Falls.  Sam fretted silently about it, Bobby sympathized but there was little anyone could do about the situation until Dean’s fissures healed.

 

After breakfast Dean went outside to do a maintenance check on Baby, and naturally Sam fell into step alongside of him.  Dean was tired but beyond exhausted so that if he did lay down and close his eyes he knew he wouldn’t sleep.

 

“I’m sorry about this morning.” Dean ventured softly looking at Sam’s profile.  “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

 

“I’m glad you did.” Sam consoled looking at Dean and the peppering of freckles across his nose and cheeks. Sam loved Dean’s freckles; every last one of them he longed to stroke with his fingers and brush gentle kisses across.  It was his heart kept secret and now more than ever he wished he had admitted it to Dean before things had changed so dramatically for his older brother.  “I don’t want you to go through this alone. You and I take care of each other; us against the world, remember?” Sam reached up with a hand, catching Dean’s eye so Dean was aware of Sam’s intention.

 

Sam rested his hand upon Dean’s shoulder and the two stopped walking.  “It’s okay, De. You don’t have to hide anything from me. I’ll understand; I won’t judge; I love you and nothing that’s been said, or happened, or that you feel will ever change that for me.”  Sam smiled sweetly and slowly removed his hand from Dean’s shoulder.

 

Dean granted Sam a tender smirk and nodded. “Thanks Sammy.” His voice broke a little but neither one of them drew attention to the occurrence.  They walked in silence the rest of the way to where the Impala was parked near the body paint shed.  Bobby had covered her to keep the dust off of her while she sat idle and Dean’s smile flashed for just a split second witnessing his care of the car.  Things that he had taken for granted before now moved him emotionally in profound ways.

 

Sam helped him remove the drape and hovered close by while Dean popped the hood and tinkered with the engine. There was nothing that really required attention, but it felt good to have tools in his hands and the feel of oil and grease underneath his nails and on his skin.   For those few precious moments his pain was suspended and nothing mattered but the automatic movements of his fingers.  He wasn’t a car, he couldn’t be taken apart and fixed anew as easily as Baby could; she had a purpose, a use and now Dean found himself questioning his own.  Dean loathed being in a position of uncertainty and weakness; he knew it disappointed John and worried Sam.  Dean was a person of action not idleness and being physically unable to function was far more crippling emotionally than he realized it could ever be.  He was hurting his family and there was nothing Dean could do to prevent it; he only hoped that someday his father would forgive him.

~~~~~

John Winchester was on a hunt, but it wasn’t for supernatural monsters. For now, his singular focus upon the yellow eyed demon was pushed aside replaced instead by the need to locate the men that had harmed his oldest son. It was the only case he cared about.  After the death of his wife Mary, the nurturing, gentle facets of John’s personality had been cast aside, muted or downright ejected. He no longer required them and while that made his children turn to one another for bonding affection, the sacrifice made John Winchester a better solider, hunter and killer.  Every soldier had his duty and right now Sam’s was to take care of Dean while John tracked and punished those responsible.

 

It had taken him a few day visits and nightly stake outs at The Shark League to glean any useful intelligence but John Winchester could be patient when it counted.  One waitress had clearly remembered Dean play a game of darts with a couple of guys. They weren’t regulars and she didn’t know if they were truckers or not.  A bartender that had recently gone from night shift to day corroborated her news, but with an additional item: the two men weren’t truckers.  Following the game of darts, the trio had moved on to pool and beer with whiskey shot chasers.  The men had only frequented the bar for three days and each night they befriended a different man. With a little more pressing the waitress confirmed the bar tender’s observation, embarrassed to realize that each guy they focused on was also not a regular and; frighteningly; never a repeat customer.

 

John’s jaw tightened at the news. Human monsters; he thought he had taught his boys better than to be fooled by kind faces. He had taught them never to take drugs, or drink in excess in a public place around those that were not family.  He taught them how to guard their drinks and food from poisoning; drilled into them over and over the importance of blending in and not making yourselves a public spectacle precisely for the reason of not becoming a target.  Why had Dean flouted those lessons? He could not only recite them verbatim but lived them at every bar he illegally flashed his driver’s license to get into.  John had witnessed his skill utilizing them with his own eyes on countless occasions.  Dean was so mindful of his father’s words that he drummed into Sam those identical teachings like gospel.  The toxicology blood work from Dean’s initial visit to the emergency room had tested positive with an older, rarely prescribed tranquilizer, as well as positive for trace amounts of LSD.

 

So what had gone wrong? What had made Dean disregard his training? The two blonds he had been conversing with left together an hour after John had exited the bar leaving his son in their conversational care.  It was then that Dean had turned his sights on the men, or they on him.  A con for dart and pool bets?  Dean wasn’t careless when it came to chatting up his marks; it didn’t matter if he actually started to like the people or find them amusing he still kept himself at a distance.  So what was John missing?  It might be a small detail but an important one.

 

John sat on the end of the bed of the hotel room he had previously shared with his teen sons.  His mind was spinning like a pinwheel seeking on how to put all the pieces together.  He had his journal open in his lap and moved few papers folded together aside to look at his investigative notes.  Abruptly his gaze shifted from the notes to the folded papers. He unfolded the printer copies of news articles, the very same that had brought the Winchesters to Nebraska in the first place for their hunt.  John bolted up right, his journal falling to the floor unheeded as he moved to the small kitchenette table and the laptop in sleep mode upon it.  After ten minutes of research John’s blood ran cold and his spine hardened to ice.  In a neighboring county, weeks prior to the werewolf the Winchesters had been hunting, there were news reports that equated a crocotta had nested there.  The timing of the killings had stopped a day or two prior to John and the boys reaching this county and their werewolf case.  Rage erupted throughout John’s system burning to waste all the cold disbelief that had previously floored him.  The unthinkable had happened and John was going to kill the bastards responsible for Dean’s rape.

 

Hunters.

 

The fucking monsters were _Hunters_ ….

~~~~~

Four months later….

Sam was not happy and it wasn’t just teenage angst and puberty that affected him, but rather the changes that had manifested in Dean.  His older brother was colder now; detached in a way that went against the very fiber of Dean’s nurturing, dorkish, loving, nature. Those were the facets of his personality that he only showed to Sam, but the youngest Winchester could not deny that the public face Dean donned prior to the rape was severely altered as well.  Dean’s smiles were replaced by impassive expressions and glaring eyes.  His jovial puns, creative name calling and fathomless schemes to get the fairer sexes attention were now absent from his repertoire.  He didn’t drink a drop of alcohol unless it was to numb the pain from a physical injury.  He no longer flirted with waitresses in the hopes of getting free pie after meals.  In fact, he didn’t flirt with any girl of any age or beauty at all.  He flinched every time anyone other than Sam lay a hand upon him. Sam theorized that the only reason he didn’t receive identical results was because he had learned to televise his touches so that Dean instantly read them.  In all his older brother was detached, emotionless and embraced their father’s personality more and more each passing day.  It was this realization that frightened Sam the most.

Dean’s movements were methodical in practice. He was cleaning their guns one by one while Sam sharpened all their knives. John was out at a bar and Dean; well he didn’t follow his father there much anymore unless it was to hustle pool with Sam. He had one beer, nursed it all night and came back to the hotel with a pocket full of money and Sam at his side. Sam sat adjacent to his brother at the dinette table cluttered with the necessary tools of their work. The silence was weighted between them and Sam elected to attempt beginning a conversation.

“My birthday is next week.” Dean said nothing, merely intent upon his work. “I was thinking that maybe you and I could, uh,” Sam paused stilling the whetting stone against the machete blade. “spend a couple of nights at a camp ground, or just somewhere sleeping under the stars. Like we used to do in the Summer sometimes. I miss kinda that so, what do you think?”

Dean looked up and met Sam’s gaze. “I think that sounds nice. Just the three of us?”

Sam shook his head. “No. Just us. Dad would want to get back on the road right away. Just one night under the stars doesn’t feel very birthday like to me. I want a couple, maybe even three nights.” Sam’s gaze softened. “Please?”

“Sure Sammy. Three nights it is.” Dean granted him a flickering shadow of a smirk and Sam felt his chest swell with warmth.

“Thanks De. It means allot.”

Dean said nothing and returned to cleaning the Colt that matched Sam’s Taurus. He had never said so aloud, but Sam knew that Dean secretly loved the fact that cosmetically their guns matched and that their father had given them to them both on Christmas long ago. As much as Dean bitched about ‘chick flick moments’ he was the first Winchester to insight and relish in them when they occurred. He was an overly romantic, sentimental sap and Sam loved him dearly for it. Alpha, macho, tough guy Dean could be brought to his knees by a dimpled smile, and teary eyed hug, from his little brother. Sam knew he had to tap into that aspect of Dean’s nature and bring it back to the surface. His brother wasn’t healing, he was merely shutting down and shoving his feelings down into a dark abyss where they would fester and contaminate. He didn’t want to lose Dean because John was content to leave the situation alone, and Sam wasn’t pushing Dean to talk.

Sam held his gaze upon Dean, studying his every movement and absorbing every shift of his gaze and mouth. He had forever thought that Dean’s full, lush mouth was perfect for one thing and one thing only. He had heard other males comment on that same mouth over the years and usually it ended in broken noses and shouted insults for them. The ‘natural cock sucking lips’ anthem infuriated Sam just as much as it did his Dean. It floored him to be reminded at just how stupid people could be: Kissing. The sole purpose of those lips were to kiss and be kissed. Anyone who couldn’t understand that deserved to be punched in the face and now that Sam was older, stronger, and larger, he would take up the mantel in full. Sam swallowed predicting that the rapists had probably said something about his brother’s mouth; something he never wanted anyone to ever say again. He felt his blood surge a little faster and heat up within his veins.

“De?”

“Yeah Sammy?”

“Has Dad ever, um… asked you about,” Sam paused and watched Dean’s hands slow in movement upon the metal he held. “that night?”

Dean’s hands halted to a standstill for a beat or two before picking up speed once more. “No.”

He really hadn’t needed to say it, but Sam was thankful to hear his suspicions confirmed by Dean at last. At least now he knew exactly where John Winchester stood on the issue and where Dean seemed to wish him too. Silence was deadly and Sam was not about to allow it to choke his big brother.

“Just wondering.” Sam permitted watching Dean’s shoulders round a little forward in relief. “Can I have another rag please?”

Dean yanked one off of his thigh and handed it across the table to his brother. Sam thanked him softly and the two siblings lapsed into silence and continued weapons maintenance. Sam was looking forward to his birthday celebration and being alone with Dean. John meant well but he just couldn’t help Dean through this like Sam was capable of. It didn’t mean that John Winchester didn’t love his sons; he did; he just had no idea how to deal with emotions now that the center of his soul was hollow. Mary’s death had cored him like a pineapple and Sam suspected that if Dean died he would experience an identical spiritual death. Soulmates worked that way and Sam had accepted his role as Dean’s a long time ago; now it was just time to remind Dean of what he was risking leaving behind if he continued to drive off the rails in silence.

tbc


	2. Bad for Dean: Sweet 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam needs Dean to talk to him because Dean isn't doing well

Sam had been smart by laying the ground work with Dean, and then with John regarding his impending birthday celebration plans.  The conversation with John had certainly been the more arduous of the two for two reasons: one, Sam had to find a few moments to be alone with this father and two; John was currently in hyper protective mode of his sons.  Sam informed John that Dean had already agreed to the situation, and further played up on the fact that it would be good for Dean to do something other than hunting for a few days; where he didn’t have to interact with other people.  John agreed, praising Sam for his care of his older brother and granted him a pat on the back and a moist eyed smile as reward.  Sam was just relieved that John was entrusting him with Dean’s safety, even though he had to reveal the spot where he wanted to take Dean for the camping trip.  John suggested a cabin that he knew of in the area that was probably empty due to its owner being on a hunt.  Sam agreed to the concession feeling it was a small price to pay for having Dean all to himself for seventy-two hours.  Besides, he and Dean could always sleep outside if they wanted to, so really they lost nothing by going to the cabin instead.

 

By the actual arrival of his birthday Sam was bursting with excitement. Not because it was his ‘special day’ but because he would soon be alone with Dean in the woods.  Life didn’t get much better than that; maybe a trip to the beach and for a longer stretch of time; but Sam was thankful for what he was allotted.  Dean had taken time to hustle pool beforehand so that he was flush with cash on Sam’s birthday.  They bought loads of junk food and food stuffs at a grocery store and headed up to the mountains and the borrowed cabin.  As predicted the owner had been away for a while and there was little chance of him coming back while the boys were using his home.

 

John had given Sam some cash for his birthday to spend as he liked, and Dean had presented Sam with a custom made silver knife, complete with an enhancement spell etched into the handle.  Any supernatural creature susceptible to silver would experience the bite of the blade like a bone deep infection.  Sam was thrilled with his gift and couldn’t stop smiling whenever he admired the shine of the silver, or traced the etchings on the hilt with his fingertips.  He could feel Dean’s gaze upon him and he would look up at his older sibling, eyes shining and dimples indenting his cheeks deeply.  Dean granted Sam a return smile, though it was not as radiant as his little brother’s yet it was just as earnestly given.  He loved seeing his Sammy happy.

 

They arrived at the cabin late morning and aired it out as they unloaded their gear and put away the groceries.  The generator was easily switched on and ready for use to power the refrigerator and few electrical lights in the place.  Primarily the two Winchester’s would rely on the fire place, wood burning stove and kerosene lanterns or candles for their needs.  Clean sheets were placed on the full sized bed and cushions of the couch dusted by having been beaten upon themselves or the brothers.  Dean even smiled and Sam was confident he was on the right track with this camping trip.  He grinned to himself as plugged in his laptop to charge the battery.  They would probably want to watch a movie later and he wanted to be ready to either do so in the living room, bedroom or on the porch depending on where Dean wished to lounge.

 

They took about ten minutes to scope out the terrain around the mountain where the cabin sat, to ensure that there were no large mammals nearby they needed to take care around.  After that they made sandwiches for lunch and played a few hands of Crazy Eights and war, while listening to music from Sam’s IPod.  They climbed up a little higher in elevation to watch the sun set and returned to the cabin to have a couple of sodas; Sam’s two to Dean’s one; and hang out.  They ended up arguing over Lord of the Rings trivia and settled the dispute with a few wrestling rounds.  In both of which Sam felt Dean tense up and withdraw from when usually he would have pushed forward and ground Sam into the floor.  He knew the something that had twisted in Dean made him feign a loss, so for now Sam allowed him his dignity by not commenting on it.  Nor did he rub in his victory as he would have four months ago.  They cleaned up, and Dean started dinner while Sam sat at the kitchen table and read aloud to him from a pulp western novel that they found on a shelf by a window.

 

Dinner was tacos and Spanish rice, with a side salad for Sam.  Dean had black beans with his rice and after dinner was cleaned up, the two grabbed a couple of chilled beers and snack food for later.  They collapsed on the couch and Sam queued up a movie for them to stream. It was something they had seen only once or twice and weren’t reciting the dialogue of by heart.  After a third of the movie had gone by, Sam shifted on the couch to cuddle against Dean’s side. He saw Dean’s knuckles whiten around the bottle neck of the barely touched beer, even before he felt the muscles of Dean’s side tense.  He counted five breaths before he felt Dean relax a little and his fingers loosened upon the bottle. Sam gently placed a palm upon his brother’s stomach and tenderly said, “It’s okay, De. I’m just getting comfortable.”  For several seconds Dean didn’t respond.

 

Dean huffed and placed his arm around Sam. “It’s your birthday Samantha, you don’t have to justify anything.”

 

Sam’s hand began making small circles upon Dean’s stomach. “Damn right I don’t.” He covered for Dean’s dignity and received a hug for his words.

 

Twenty minutes later Sam recognized that Dean was not truly paying attention to the movie. There were no more than four instances where he should have piped up with a horrible pun or joke at the movie’s expense, twice something truly unrealistic happened that Dean should have found ‘cool’, and a shot of a woman’s nude backside, all of which went uncommented upon.  Jokes and approval were one thing but female nudity? That was unprecedented disinterest on Dean’s part. Sam raised his head a little and looked at his brother’s face.

 

“De?”

 

Nothing.

 

“Hey, De?”

 

Silence; Dean stared straight ahead.

 

“Dean!” Sam snapped and instantly Dean blinked a few times as if coming back to life.

 

“What?” He asked looking down at Sam.

 

Sam shifted away from his brother and sat up. He placed his near empty beer bottle upon the coffee table and closed the laptop screen. Dean frowned and gestured to the computer.

 

“What the hell you do that for? We were in the middle- “

 

“No, **_I_** was in the middle of the movie.”  Sam ran a hand back through his hair and turned on the couch to face Dean, his expression soft and serious.  “You were somewhere else. Which is okay, but I just wondered; where that was exactly?”

 

Dean rolled his eyes. “Jesus, Sammy…”

 

“I know, Dean. Okay? It’s difficult for you to talk about your feelings, but this is important. It’s not like how we both bury things about Dad, hunting, or even Mom. This time we **_need_** to talk about it- “

 

“No, we don’t, Sam!” Dean retorted angrily. “It didn’t happen to you!”

 

“I know that.” Sam stated calmly, his gaze misting a little as he fought his instinct to touch his brother reassuringly.  “But it affects me too, Dean.  How I talk to you, how I have to be around you now.  But the worst thing is that it changed how you treat me. You’re not the same; no one could be after that.  And I’m not telling you that you have to pretend to be like you once were, because you won’t ever be again. I’m telling you to push it down and act like nothing is wrong. What I am asking you, is to please; don’t keep me out like you’re shutting yourself down lately. I can help you. I _want_ to help you.  Because I love you and you’re still my big brother, De.  They hurt you but they didn’t take away from you the person you are; the person I love most in the world and who loves me.  So please Dean, talk to me. I-I need you; you’re my everything. _Please_.”

 

Sam fell silent as he watched his words crawl over his brother’s body seeking a way inside. He watched a few tears drip from Dean’s green eyes making them a lighter shade temporarily.  He sat still, barely breathing and Sam reached up with a hand, slowly showing Dean his intent and used his fingertips to wipe away the renegade tears.

 

“I got you, De.” He whispered lovingly.  “Nothing that ever happens changes that. You hear me? I love you.”

 

Dean nodded a few times and Sam leaned forward and placed his arms around his older brother.  Dean leaned into the embrace, his arms sluggish and heavy but finally coming to rest around Sam’s back.  He closed his eyes and felt strands of Sam’s soft hair tickling his cheek.  He hugged Sam tightly and buried his face in the side of Sam’s neck, feeling his little brother breathing and gently running his hands up and down his back, touching the back of his head and nape of the neck in tender comfort.  This was the touch he always wanted to feel; needed to recall when the phantom sensations from the attack arose. While his memory was foggy on the details his body reveled the secrets one by one over time.  He hated knowing that he had been touched in such an intimate of a way without being able to stop them, defiled and made into a pariah because being a victim of rape automatically was socially unacceptable. Everything he had ever heard from others regarding the issue had always blamed the victim.  He knew it was his fault and didn’t need to be reminded of that twenty-four-seven.

 

Dean hugged Sam tighter until he heard his little brother push out a noise that sounded suspiciously like a squeak.  “Ow.” Sam breathed both touched and amused by Dean’s tight embrace.  Dean immediately tensed and Sam instantly regretted saying anything at all. “Oh, no. De- Sorry. You’re fine. I just, just wanted to take a breath is all.”

 

Dean relaxed once more and loosened his grip just a little. He felt Sam’s hand on his hair and closed his eyes again pressing his face into the side of Sam’s neck. He smelled so damned good; that special little Sammy smell he’d had since birth.  Dean had attempted a million times over the years to break it down into its components, but after he identified the shampoo, soap, and laundry detergent’s scents he failed to be able to describe the rest of the elements. These he decided were inherently Sam and he gave up the analysis altogether.  But Sammy’s scent always calmed him, told him he was home; and that he was safe.

 

Currently Dean felt that the notion of ‘safety’ was lost to him forever more. Sure, there was being cautious because of supernatural monsters lurking in the world; a Hunter had to be lightly paranoid for an attack at any moment; but that was merely an accepted part of the job.  Having confidence in, or feeling safe, was something Dean had lost.  It was a jarring realization to discover that taking for granted a feeling of security in everyday life was a shock to gut.  Carrying weapons didn’t make Dean feel safe. Knowing how to fight, as well as handling lethal weapons, didn’t make Dean feel safe.  Being in the company of Bobby, his father and little brother in familiar surroundings didn’t make Dean feel safe either.  Even if everyone else around him was armed and Dean was in the supernatural monster proof panic room beneath Bobby’s house, Dean did not feel safe.  Inside of his own skin he felt vulnerable and raw.  The only reason he was not screaming uncontrollably at this moment was that he was being held by and scenting Sam.  When at last their embrace severed, Sam cradled one of Dean’s cheeks in his palm and offered a conspirator’s smirk.  They resumed the movie and snacking, this time cuddling close, one of Dean’s arms slung over Sam’s shoulders.  Dean seemed more grounded in the moment and faded out for less time when receded. Sam considered this a victory and knew not to call attention to it, instead he just enjoyed his older brother’s company.

 

It was after one in the morning when the two brothers made their way to bed. Dean wore longer cotton boxers and a tee shirt, Sam however wore just his boxer briefs as was his style.  Dean had always teased him about being a closeted nudist, to which Sam replied that he would never know because he had never had his own room.  Dean would flippantly dismiss the benefits to having more privacy with a wave of the hand, his middle finger extended suspiciously higher than the others.  One time, when Sam had felt particularly playful and John had been away, Sam dropped his underwear and waved his ‘junk’ at older sibling. Dean had recoiled away from the sight, telling Sam that it was ’gross’ and to ‘put that thing away’ before Sam accidentally took someone’s eye out. But that had been before the rape; before Dean changed in order to survive the passage of days, miles, and hunts.  Now Dean dressed and undressed alone behind the bathroom door.  Sam had taken up the practice; sans the locked door, out of respect for his brother’s discomfort, even though it didn’t seem to bother him whenever John or Sam changed clothes in front of him. It was when his own body was exposed that Dean became anxious and sequestered himself behind locked doors.

 

Dean was already in bed when Sam pulled the covers back and climbed in beside him.  He lay with his back to Sam, facing the door of the room knowing that everything was locked down and salted, warded against several types of supernatural creatures. His Colt forty-five was on the night stand, Sam’s nine millimeter Taurus pushed between the mattress and box spring. There was an iron poker leaning up on Dean’s side of the bed between the night table and him, while Sam had no less than three knives squirreled away in easy to reach places around the room, and two sawed off shot guns under the bed on either side, salt rounds loaded, while silver bullets filled each of their hand guns.  Dean hadn’t told Sam but he had thirty-eight and nondescript nine millimeter hidden in the room to take out any human being that could easily stride through their locked defenses.  Dean might be alone in the woods in a well-hidden cabin, but he was not about to compromise his; and more importantly his Sammy’s; safety.

 

Dean felt Sam settle on the mattress behind him and knew his kid was facing the back of his head. He could actually feel Sam’s gaze on the flesh of his scalp, even before he heard the soft request of, “Can I touch you?” from over his left shoulder.

 

“Yeah.” And not even a breath later he felt Sam’s fingers trail down the back of his head, over the bare nape of his neck and settle between his shoulder blades and still.

 

Sam smiled, happy that Dean didn’t tense when Sam touched him.  “This has been a great birthday Dean. Thank you so much for everything. I’m happy.”

 

The admission sounded foreign to Dean’s ears but the sentiment pleased him. Joy wasn’t something that Sam Winchester felt now that he was sixteen and going through the tail end of puberty angst.  However, the opposite was true of Sam’s childhood. He had been a very happy baby and toddler. In fact, up until the age of 12 he had been a big ball of love. He was quick to smile, laugh and always wanted attention and cuddles from Dean.  The initial blast of puberty and John’s stern orders to quit coddling Sam, had been what altered their relationship.  It was then that Dean began waiting until John was off alone on a hunting trip before resuming his physicality with his little brother.  While Sam adjusted to the new rules, he shifted his sulking hurt at Dean to resentment toward his father.  They began locking horns leaving Dean in the middle to become their own private peace negotiator.

 

Dean smiled just a little and reached behind him with a hand. It brushed up against Sam’s hip and he said, “You deserve it Baby Boy.”

 

Sam grinned then softly asked, “Can I move closer to you?”

 

“Sure.” Dean said and managed not to tense. He felt his stomach knot but then Sam began telling Dean what limb he was moving and if he was going to touch him and when. Within a minute his chest was pressed to Dean’s back, long legs curled behind Dean’s, and an arm draped over Dean’s stomach, his hand entwined with Dean’s. Dean’s opposite hand was tucked beneath his pillow and Sam’s arm was stretched along his back. He was fairly relaxed and thankful that Sam’s words had staved off his anxiety for the moment. He relaxed within Sam’s embrace and closed his eyes.

 

“Dean?”

 

“Sammy?”

 

Sam stifled a laugh and ground his nose into the short hairs at the back of Dean’s head, his lips barely ghosting the skin of his nape as he smiled. “Do you remember a couple of years ago when we set fire to that field on the fourth of July, with that box of fireworks you bought?”

 

Illegal fireworks and Dean squeezed Sam’s hand at the memory. “Course I do. Why?”

 

“This birthday is like that night. I mean, it is for me. I’m happy and I have you to thank for it. Just like always.”

 

Sam hugged him tighter and Dean chuckled a little before pushing back against Sam. “Go to sleep Sammy. Maybe you’ll dream about those fireworks.” Dean would have given anything to dream about them himself, only the fireworks he saw were in his beautiful Sammy’s eyes.

 

“I hope so.” Sam whispered snuggling as close as he was able to against Dean.  “I love you, De.”

 

“Good night Sammy.”

 

And Sam closed his eyes the scent and warmth of Dean’s flesh just beneath his nose.

~~~~~

Dean couldn’t breathe. He was gaging, not really tasting anything past a bitter tang, and he couldn’t breathe. His throat was stretched, his eyes watering, and his face mashed up against coarse hair.  He was attempting to push back, to shove himself away from the source of his choking, but hands in his hair held him firm, other hands pinning his arms behind his back. His throat was extended taught and the awkward position constricted his windpipe all the more.  Panic filled him and he struggled frantically, screaming around the flesh filling his mouth.

 

Sam startled awake at Dean’s first scream and he seized his knife from underneath his pillow and was on his feet within seconds. His gaze scanned the room, eyes adjusting to the light of the battery operated hurricane lamp he had switched on. They were alone and Sam relaxed his defensive pose, put his knife away and crawled over the mattress where his brother was partially sitting up and screaming from.

 

“De! Dean!” Sam shouted to be heard. He didn’t touch Dean, got up and walked around the opposite side of the bed so that his older brother could see him when he came to his senses.  “It’s all right. No one is here but you and me! I swear, it’s just the two of us. Dean!”

 

The summons slowly wormed through Dean’s mind and he ceased shouting and began huffing and gasping for air, hyperventilating as his gaze came to focus on Sam’s concerned features. Dean swallowed and Sam held up his palms in front of him.

 

“Can I touch you Dean? Just put one of my hands on your shoulders?”

 

“Wh-What?”

 

“Touch you.” Sam smiled and tried to appear calm despite the racing of his heart.  “It’s me; your Baby Boy. So can I? Put my hands on your shoulders now?”

 

Dean shook his head and before Sam could even utter an alternative, Dean had reached forward and pushed him none too gently backward.  “No! M’ruined!” Dean breathed, moving to rise upon unsteady legs.  Instinctively Sam reached out to him with a hand and Dean slapped it away.  “Don’t!”

 

“No Dean, you’re not ruined. It’s okay, De. I’ve got you. It’s okay. Just you and me, alright? Just us.”  Sam couldn’t help the need that tinged his voice. He didn’t like being pushed away or denied comforting his older brother.  Not now; not when he could sense the hum of memories searing Dean’s already flayed nerves. That Dean now identified himself as ‘ruined’ was new information revealed and Sam didn’t like what he was hearting.

 

Dean shook his head and staggered a few feet away from the bed and reached out to steady himself with both hands against the wall. His equilibrium was off and he wasn’t entirely certain he was grounded in the moment.  Swallowing was difficult and he was breathing quite rapidly.  He squeezed his eyes shut and pressed his forehead against the wall. He wanted to forget; the taste, the sensations, the fucking smell of the rapist’s genital region.  He could hear the faint huff of breath from the man, feel fingers nearly pull the short hairs off from the crown of his head.

_“Perfect lips; just right for sucking cock.”_

 

No! Dean didn’t want to hear anymore; remember anything else. He struck his forehead against the wall, rocking forward, skull impacting harder and harder as each second ticked by.  He could hear Sam shout something at him; he wasn’t certain what but abruptly there were hands upon him and he fought, fists curling and connecting until he felt the warmth of Sam’s solid hands holding his face and his eyes finally focused upon his little brother’s features.

 

“Dean! Stop! Stop fighting! It’s not real; whatever you’re seeing isn’t happening. Okay? You’re here with me and it’s all right. It’s just the two of us! Stop it!”

 

“Sammy?” Dean realized he was holding Sam’s arms and that there was something sticky upon his forehead.  Blood; wasn’t it?  Dean stilled and breathed; nodding in assurance that he was present once more.

 

“It’s okay, De.” Sam soothed stroking Dean’s cheeks and face.  “Shh. Just us. You and me. No one else.” He tentatively brushed his fingers across the small gash in Dean’s forehead that was bleeding. He figured that Dean must have caught it on a nail in the wall in order to split the flesh.  He was going to have to clean it but it didn’t require anything other than a single butterfly bandage tape.

 

“It’s okay. We’re fine, De. Just fine. All right?”

 

Dean nodded and pivoted in the direction of the bed, legs abruptly weak.  Instinctively he encircled an arm around his little brother and reached up with his hand, fingers petting down the back of Sam’s hair. Sam; Sam was real. The cabin, the birthday celebration, all of it rippled to the surface as Dean made it to the bed and sat down cautiously. With Sam bending to aid him, standing so close he could smell him. His heart rate slowed; yes, his beautiful Sammy was here. Everything was real now, not what had happened before but this; being with Sam and scenting him was real.  Dean’s body was threatening to shake apart but he dropped his arm from around his little brother.

 

“Sammy.”

 

Sam’s arms encircled Dean and he pet, and soothed Dean the best he could, his movements slow and heavily televised.  “Yeah, it’s me.” He felt the tension slowly ease out of Dean’s muscles by degrees and eventually his brother stopped shaking and panting.  Once Dean’s breathing fully regulated, Sam gently extracted himself enough to hold Dean’s face in his hands once more. His hazel eyes locked upon Dean’s steady gaze and he knew Dean was still with him instead of locked in the memory of the events from almost five months ago.

 

“I’m gonna go get the first aid kit, okay? Clean up that gash and then we can go back to bed.”

 

Dean shook his head. “I’m up. Can’t sleep now.”

 

“Okay then,” Sam offered gently. “We’ll play cards or something. Want me to make some coffee?”  Dean shook his head for a second time.  “Do you want me to read to you some more?”

 

Dean considered this and answered in the affirmative.  Occupying his mind with something other than the panic attack was a good idea, and besides, he was a little curious about what was going to happen in the Western novel next.  Sam grinned at him and excused himself moments later, and upon entering the kitchen to retrieve the first aid kit, his smile evaporated and he clutched at the sink ledge to steady his own buckling knees.  He had assumed that Dean’s nightmares were decreasing, but in the face of what had just occurred he surmised that they were still as frequent as they first had been. Only now Dean was more adept at hiding them; until now.  Tonight he had been relaxed, safe with Sam at his back and the visions had seized him, relentless and scarring.  Sam quieted his own racing heart and grabbed the first aid kit from under the sink and returned to the back bedroom.

 

Enough was enough. Sam was going to have to force Dean to talk to him about the rape or he feared that his brother wouldn’t survive much longer.  Dean needed help and Sam would be damned if he wasn’t going to stand by and not grant him aid.

 

Dean was seated upon the bed, his head hung forward in his hands for support.  Sam placed the first aid kit on the bed beside him and set about getting gauze and cotton too clean and swab out the injury.

 

“Okay look up at me, De.” As if on automatic pilot Dean raised his head, eyes unfocused yet staring.

 

It took Sam about ten minutes to properly clean and bandage the gash, his gentle hands working slowly so that he didn’t startle Dean. Halfway through the care Dean’s eyes closed and he rested his chin upon the fingers of Sam’s left hand, while the right administered to his injury.  He felt incredibly stupid; it had been so foolish to strike his head against the wall. In the moment Dean had been desperate and oddly unaware of what he was doing until he felt the blood upon his forehead and realized Sam was looking at him, talking him down.  He knew Sam was not going to let the event lie and would bring it up in the morning at the latest. He was dreading the conversation, but felt unable to avoid it. This was his time with Sam to celebrate his birth and not delve into Dean’s fucked up life.  He wanted these few, precious days to be for and about Sam; yet something else Dean could now add to the pile of his failures.  In the end Sam would forgive him but Dean would never forgive himself. How could he? Sam asked for so little in life and it was Dean’s job to provide for him selflessly.  His stupid nightmares had ruined everything; again.

 

“There.” Sam lowered his hands from Dean’s face and picked up the accumulated trash, balling it in one hand before zipping the first aid kit closed. “Are you sure you don’t want to lay down for a little while? I can bring the book in here.”

 

Dean opened his eyes and instantly found Sam with his stare.  “Yeah. That might be good.” Sam beamed at him and Dean couldn’t help but issue the barest of smiles in return.

 

“I’ll be right back then.” Sam exited the room and Dean followed his instructions and lay back down on the bed, pulling the sheet up to cover him to just beneath the arm pits. He watched the door defensively until Sam returned.

 

Sam smiled upon seeing Dean and moved around the end of the bed to the opposite side of the mattress. He slid slowly into bed behind his brother and propped his pillow up a little as he settled in and opened the thin, paperback book. “Okay, so last we left off the ambush had happened and Thomas is trying to reach his riffle…”

 

Dean kept his back to Sam for now, pressing up against his younger brother. Sam, slightly elevated; could easily view Dean’s face if he wished too.  After a few paragraphs Dean closed his eyes and imagined the chain of events of the novel upon the blank movie screen within his mind, that he watched everything he imagined upon.  For a little while he could feel like someone else and live vicariously through them and not have to reside within his own skin.  He listened to Sam’s eloquent voice flowing and constructing the images upon the screen. And for the moment his mind was still of his own pain and Dean was happy.

~~~~~

The following morning Sam awoke to the smell of bacon wafting down the short hall way from the kitchen and into his nostrils.  He murmured to himself happily and pushed himself up from the bed and rubbed his eyes.  Dean had slipped out of bed without Sam knowing and that bothered him.  Usually he was more vigilant but the events of the hours’ prior had left them both drained, Sam apparently more so than Dean.  Dean could force himself to get up and cook breakfast but Sam knew he needed rest and that his older brother was still hurting.  He hadn’t told Sam anything about the content of his nightmare but Sam suspected it was in heavy rotation in his brother’s mind.

 

Sam washed his face and pulled on some clothes before exiting the bedroom and walking down the small hall to the kitchen. He smacked his lips in reaction to the scent of bacon and made noises to both announce his presence in order to alert Dean and reflect his gratitude for breakfast.  He sauntered over to the counter and lifted the edge of a paper towel to snag a piece of bacon from the plate.

 

“When did you get up?”

 

“Just after sunrise.” Dean informed smacking the back of Sam’s bacon stealing hand with the bottom of the spatula.  “Wait. The pancakes are almost done so sit.”

 

Sam frowned and chewed on the appropriated bacon and noticed the table was set for two, milk already poured, along with steaming cups of coffee for them both.  He grinned and said, “I’m gonna hug you now.”  Sam embraced Dean from the side and squeezed.  “Oh De, thank you.”

 

“Careful.” Dean shrugged his shoulder hoping to dislodge his brother, even if the corners of his mouth were upturned.  “Don’t burn yourself on the griddle.”

 

“I won’t.” Sam promised being extra careful with his limbs. He squeezed Dean for a few more seconds before releasing him and moving to pull a chair out from the table and sat down.  “How’s your head?”

 

Dean’s smirk vanished as he listened for a few seconds to his little brother chewing the crisp bite of bacon he had taken.  And so the confrontation was at hand. It oddly mystified him that he was able to predict the time frame at which Sam questioned him.  He knew everything about his Kid and loved him dearly; good ol’ wonderful Sammy.

 

“S’fine. Took some aspirin when I got up.”

 

Sam dusted some crumbs; from who knew what past meal; from the table top, that had worked their way up from between the grooves of the planks.  “I should have given you some after I patched you up last night.  I’m sorry I forgot.”

 

“Don’t worry about it.” Dean placed a plate of steaming pancakes in front of his little brother.  He then grabbed the bacon plate off of the counter, and brought it to the table along with the bottle of syrup.  “I’m surviving.” Dean ruffled Sam’s hair and turned away to make a couple of more pancakes before joining Sam.

 

Sam chuckled, and smoothed down his hair with a hand before picking up his knife and fork.  He watched Dean for several seconds before he began cutting up his pancakes.  When he was little Dean had always cut them up into small bites before putting syrup on them and the preference had followed Sam into teen hood.

 

“I’m sixteen, De. You gotta cut that out.”

 

Incredulously innocent, Dean nearly batted his eyes at Sam as he sat down. “Cut, what, out Sammy?”

 

Sam rolled his eyes and speared some pancake with his fork. “Messing with my hair. I’m not an adorable, little scamp anymore, okay Alfalfa?”

 

Dean grunted at the _Little Rascals_ reference and but didn’t kick Sam under the table like he would have before. He merely shook his head and grabbed four slices of bacon to place upon his own plate. “Don’t know what you’re talkin’ about over there, Spanky.”

 

Sam huffed in disapproval of Dean’s choice from the cast, but also was acutely aware that his older brother was acting out of character.  It made his stomach tense and he pushed the bite of pancake around the syrup upon the plate and watched Dean eat for a few minutes. Dean did not make eye contact with him and ate in silence.

 

“Dean?”  Dean continued to chew thoroughly and took a sip of milk. “Dean?” Dean’s cheek jumped at the corner but otherwise he didn’t acknowledge Sam over his breakfast.  Sam resisted the urge to push at his big brother’s leg under the table with an insistent foot and whistled softly instead and snapped two fingers of his right hand at his brother. “Earth to Dean Winchester. Hey! You listening to me over there?”

 

“Not really.” Dean countered looking up and taking a bite of food. Chewing he regarded Sam’s impatient features. Relenting to the inevitable, Dean shifted in the chair, fighting the urge to bolt away from the conversation.  He knew this was coming and Sam was right on schedule. It was better to rip the bandage off and get it over with. “What’s so damned important anyway?”

 

Sam’s entire manner softened, his expression shining with pure honesty. His hazel eyes shown particularly golden, flex of blue interwoven with the present green. “You are.” Sam informed Dean gently.  “De, I’m scared.” Sam paused and watched Dean absorb the words even if he was slow to react to them.

 

“Dean, I need you. I’ve always needed you and I always will. You know you’re my everything right? That I depend on you still, even if I’m not a baby anymore? I’m always gonna need your advice, guidance, and love. You’re my best friend and the only one that I can count on to have my back. But- “Sam faltered and witnessed that his words were having a bit of an effect on his older sibling’s features. Perhaps what he was saying truly was unexpected to Dean, but Sam meant every word earnestly.

 

“I’m gonna lose you, De. Don’t you know I can’t do this on my own? Hunt, live, exist? Just, **_survive_**? I can’t do that without you, De.” Sam slowly reached across the table and stopped his fingers just millimeters from Dean’s right hand. He waited and Dean slowly reached out and took Sam’s hand in his own. Sam squeezed the appendage gently and held eye contact with Dean. This was important and something he couldn’t afford to get wrong.

 

“But if you don’t talk to me, and I mean **_really_** , open up about what happened to you, it’s gonna kill you. Then what happens to me? How am I supposed to forgive myself for letting you down? For not being there for you when you needed me most? How am I going to function when you’re no longer here to help me? I _need_ my brother, De. I _need_ you; **_everything_**. That’s what we are. Don’t you see that?”

 

Dean’s gaze misted and he squeezed Sam’s hand so tightly Sam had to fight not to flinch.

 

“I- “Dean faltered and took a breath as emotion lodged deeply within his throat threatening to choke him. “It’s bad, Sam.”

 

“I know.” Sam soothed running his thumb across the top of Dean’s knuckles. “But please, Dean; stop shutting me out.  You have to talk to me; I can help you, and no matter what you have to tell me I can take it. I’m not going to run away, or judge you, or fall apart. I swear to you De, I have your back. I’ve. Got. **_You_**.”

 

Dean swallowed hard and nodded understanding what his brother was saying, however not yet resigned to begin talking.  He squeezed Sam’s hand one final time and released it, clearing his throat. Dean reached for his knife and cut a bite out of his pancakes.

 

“Eat your breakfast before it gets cold Sammy.”

 

“Okay De.” Sam agreed taking another bite of his food. They ate in silence for another five minutes before Dean ventured to speak once more.

 

Following breakfast, the brothers brushed washed up the dishes, brushed their teeth and put on their shoes to go for a hike.  The temperature was in the low seventies and quite pleasant.  They followed a ridgeline of trees down into a valley and found a stream. They drank from the flowing water and Sam found a nice break of sunlight through the branches of a tree.  Dean however was content to remain in the shadow, eyes resting upon Sam’s near profile. His little brother was seated to the left and ahead of him, while Dean rested back against the trunk of the tree, wrists upon his upraised knees.

 

Sam kicked off his shoes and socks, tugged off his tee shirt and left them behind as he wadded in the river’s edge.  Dean watched him, thoughts randomly pinging from the moment, to the event, and back again with little filter. He shivered, perspiration coating his flesh as the images of that night cleared a little.  While he couldn’t recall chronological order or a complete account, he was beginning to be able to thread incidents together to form a larger picture.  Shame bit hard into his spirit like a feral dog refusing to release captured, small prey from its jaws.

 

Sam, seemed to sense his brother’s distress and turned away from the river and climbed the bank back to where Dean waited silently. Sam sat back down on the ground, Indian style and patiently waited. He knew that Dean was conflicted and would arrive at his decision in his own time. It had felt good however to speak his mind over breakfast and inform Dean that he was more than concerned for his older brother’s safety.  Dean had lost weight, muscle mass and color.  He still flinched when touched and didn’t react well to crowds or loud, unexpected noises. He didn’t sleep for longer than a few hours, and if he did he had brutally vivid nightmares.

 

Dean swallowed and took a slow, visible breath.  “They were Hunters.”

 

Sam bit back his shock, schooling his expression to stay neutral. His nostrils flared and his pupils dilated a little, but Dean’s gaze had slipped from his features and down onto the grass.  Of course; the element that had been missing from the equation: Trust; Dean had trusted his rapists.

 

Dean rubbed a hand across his forehead to wipe away the dots of perspiration that hovered there.  He slowly raised his gaze to Sammy’s beautiful, compassionate, face.

 

“I had a few beers, then there were shots; three maybe?” Not enough to inebriate Dean; that was not even enough to cop more than a light buzz from and Sam well knew it.  “We were playing pool and shooting the shit over cases.  Dad,” Dean paused and cleared his throat. “He met this woman and was chatting her up at the bar. I had been with him for a little while but, then I decided to hustle a game and, well; Dad left before I had even sunk half a rack.” Dean laughed, the sound bitter and mirthless.  “The last round of shots, I think maybe there was something in mine. There had to be, because I remember feeling tingling in my face. I shook it off, didn’t think about it anymore because one of them said they had a Crocotta; caged. I got greedy, Sammy.” Dean admitted painfully. “I wanted to see it. Thought I’d at least witness the kill.” He shrugged. “So fucking, stupid.”

 

Sam moved, raising up to his knees before sitting back upon his calves.  Tears were in his own gaze, reflected by the excess moisture in Dean’s.

 

“No, Dean; not stupid- “

 

“Arrogant then!” Dean exhaled sounding a little desperate and as if he was short of breath. He was panicking and Sam could read it in the tension of Dean’s body language.

 

Sam raised his palms, showing them to Dean in supplication.  “Dean? They were predators; people who are extremely adept at manipulating others. That’s all they do; all day long; and they’re as proficient at it as a Wendigo is at hunting nocturnally. If these guys set their sights on anyone else, it would have ended the same for them, Dean.”

 

“Not you.” Dean stated putting his face into his hands; mouth and nose resting in the ‘v’ of his hands.  “They would have never tricked you Sammy, you’re so smart. You see people for who they really are, not what you think they should be.”

 

Sam crawled upon his knees closer to Dean, the sound of the grass and leaves crunching beneath his shins captured Dean’s immediate attention. He forced down a sob and felt Sam’s form looming before him; not as a threat, or shadow; but as a warm being.

 

“I see you.” Sam assured his older brother tenderly. He reached out and his fingers brushed the outside of Dean’s wrists; Dean started a little but not as violently as he normally did when Sam failed to televise or announce his touch.  Sam gently tugged at Dean’s wrists, long fingers circling them, open and easy for Dean to pull out of if necessary.

 

“De, it wasn’t your fault. I know that. I’m sorry you don’t see that yet; and I’ll help you get there; but they have done this for most of their lives. They’ve perfected their game. You couldn’t have known that; no one could. Not even me.”

 

Dean shook his head not prepared to concede that Sam wouldn’t have seen through their charade just as he had failed to do.

 

“You don’t know that Sam.”

 

“I do.” Sam insisted offering Dean a tender smile.  “It’s okay, De. It’s o- _kay_.”

 

Dean barked a laugh at that revelation, when in actuality what he really wanted to do was scream and never stop screaming.  He shook his head.  “Please don’t do that.” He requested and found his hands tangling within Sam’s. He raised his gaze from their union to search out the gold and blue flecks within Sam’s gaze.  “Don’t justify what I did. I’m not looking to be forgiven. It was my fault- “

 

“No- “

 

“Sam!” Dean warned sharply. He tightened his grip around Sam’s fingers, and Sam relaxed; accepting and only then did Dean continue.  “I feel them, okay? Smell them; hear and taste the sons of bitches.”  Dean took a visible breath and looked past Sam for a few seconds to the river. “I thought I was getting past it, and then this morning when you told me how you feel…What am I supposed to do with that Sammy? Keep you safe when I can’t even save myself?”

 

“But I **_am_** safe.” Sam interjected tugging Dean’s hands close to his chest.  “Because of you. You have my back. Dad and Bobby’ve trained me. **_You’ve_** trained me Dean, better than anyone else and I’m not afraid to do what needs to be done because I know you’ve taught me.” He shifted a little to maintain eye contact with Dean when his older brother attempted to look away.  “You’ve always told me that your only job in this world is to protect me. Well, guess what? You’re doing that. And you know what else? I have a job too; and that job is to help hold you up until you can stand on your own again. Because you will Dean. You’ll get stronger and deal with this and get better.  No one has to know or see what I’m doing; I’m fine with that. But I’m going to do it, Dean. It’s my job as your little brother. I can’t help it, but I won’t let my hero die.”

 

Dean scoffed a little, some of the smile genuine but it quickly dissipated. “Aw Sammy, that’s why fictional heroes are best. They can’t let you down.”

 

Sam untangled one of his hands from Dean’s grip and raised it, slowly placing his palm to cradle his older sibling’s cheek. Their eyes held and Sam could easily read the pain and longing within Dean’s eyes. It broke his heart but he was committed to helping Dean see the light through the darkness.

 

“And neither can you, Dean.”

 

Dean wanted to believe Sam and for the moment he nearly did.  A tear slipped down his cheek and Sam’s thumb gently brushed it away before it reached his chin. He nodded and Dean felt himself answer in kind, slumping forward and rest his forehead against his knees.  Sam leaned forward as well and placed gentle kisses upon the crown of Dean’s head, the hand that had cradled his cheek now stroking back through the spikes of Dean’s hair.  He hadn’t bothered to put any product in it, hadn’t done so for weeks and that suited Sam just fine. He liked being able to sweep through it with his spread fingers and rub the nape of Dean’s neck to calm him.

 

“Batman’s got nothing on Dean Winchester.” Sam smiled against the silky of his older sibling’s hair.  “Nothin’.”

 

Dean burrowed forward eliciting a slight laugh from his little brother.

 

“Like that do you?” Sam teased just above a whisper. “Okay, I see how this goes. One stroke to the ego and now I’m locked in huh?”

 

“Shut up, Sammy.” Dean breathed and grabbed a handful of Sam’s hair in his hand. Sam was convinced that Dean sounded just a little bit happy.

~~~~~

If Dean was honest with himself; and he was in short supply of that tactic as of late; he would have to admit that he was dreading an end to Sam’s birthday bash weekend in the mountains.  The reason was that it would mean they would reconnect with John, and as much as Dean loved his father and having his family all together, he could not deny that John’s presence had become problematic.  Previously he would have blamed it on Sam’s teenage angst butting heads with and challenging their father at every turn; as well as John’s inability to treat Sam as a capable Hunter and not some inadequate, half-shell cut out of Dean at five-years-old.  True, that sentiment from either had not altered, nor did Dean hold out hope that it would in the near future; but his reservation at the Winchester reunion was rooted more selfishly than that.

 

John, for all his strengths in fortitude of character; was at a loss at how to treat Dean now that the unimaginable had happened.  Realistically Dean knew he didn’t blame John for his dilemma, any more than he could punish himself for the same.  John was not a physical man at heart with his sons; the propensity lost after Mary Winchester’s death; but now that Dean had been raped he withheld even the simplest of touches.  John had seen Dean flinch one time too many from a forgetful hand on his shoulder, or leap awake into full panic mode at having been jostled at the ankle to rise for the day.  John was not a stupid man and the correlation between physical touch and emotional pain did not escape him. He was not going to torture Dean by continuing to touch him, so he stopped altogether.  While Sam was able to be mindful and patient with televising and stating his intentions, John had too many other angles to worry about than a skittish solider.  He knew that with Sam’s coaxing that eventually Dean would fall back to his previous rhythm and order would resume.

 

As good intentions went, Dean knew that his father loved him. He also accepted that they both recognized that Dean was performing under par currently and that measures had to be taken.  He tried not to take John’s distance personally, but the wounded little boy in him couldn’t help but wonder if his father was ashamed of him now.  How could Dean have been a victim to such an attack? Supernatural creatures were one thing getting the jump on him, but a regular human being? Dean couldn’t say that he didn’t agree with such an assessment and wondered the same himself. How? The ‘how’ had occurred and now Dean was left living within the fallout.  The most difficult times where when he was alone with his father, each thinking something might need to be said, but neither able to fabricate something acceptable.  The moments when Sam was not in the room were excruciating and Dean was dreading more of the same once the three were reunited.  At least traveling John had the truck and Dean the Impala. Sam was a constant at Dean’s side and at least then he could breathe.

 

He knew that Sam noticed, something was amiss; understood that Dean was dreading something.  The concern clearly shown in his little brother’s bright eyes, and he patiently waited for Dean to come to his decision of when to tell him.  It happened the last night of their holiday, when they were cuddled together, sitting atop the cabin roof stargazing.  Sam’s physical closeness was a grounding force for Dean, calming and sustaining. The lanky teen was huddled into a ball, somehow managing to place as much of himself underneath Dean’s right armpit and into his lap as possible.  How someone so vast in length could curl into such a tightly packed ball, Dean would forever marvel at.  Was it any wonder he continually thought of Sam as his ‘little’ Sammy?  Dean released the huff of a swallowed chuckle and kissed Sam’s head, palm stroking down his hair to his throat and shoulder.

 

“What?” Sam asked not pulling his gaze away from the stars.  Neither one of them had said anything for almost an hour.

 

“When you think about Hunting, what do you picture in your head?”

 

Dean could feel that Sam’s brow was furrowing seeking all the angles of the question in attempts to understand just what his older brother was searching for.  Before he could ask, Dean continued, “Is it the three of us, or you and another hunter? That’s what I meant. How does it go down?”

 

Sam was far too relaxed within Dean’s arms to incite worry at his answer.  “Us. I just see you and I, hunting.”  Sam pushed against Dean, nearly at his objective of sliding over his right leg to nestle in the vee of his brother’s thighs. That way he could sit with his back to Dean’s chest and enjoy a full embrace. “Why? What do you see?”

 

Fair was fair.  Dean grunted, pulling Sam that last inch over his thigh, pain from all of his Kid’s weight pressing on it dissipating quickly.  He rested his chin upon Sam’s head as the teen settled comfortably for them both.

 

“Not what I used to.” He rubbed his left cheek gently against Sam’s hair, allowing the scent to infiltrate his senses before speaking once more.  “I like that idea; us. You know?” He felt Sam shift, could almost see the smile beaming out of him and blinding them from the stars.  When his Kid; his beautiful Sammy; shown there were no brighter lights in the universe.  “Maybe you and I coul- “

 

“Yes!” Sam interrupted slipping a little, but Dean’s arms and legs gripped him hard and maintained his position within Dean’s embrace.  “You know I’m ready Dean. We could start little, if that would make a difference. Work up to some of the more complex cases. I have some ideas too; suggestions that might really help us along the way. I was born for this Dean; to be your partner; to have your back. Just imagine all the good we could do? And Dad would be in his element hunting alone; you know that’s how he prefers it. We’d help him if he calls; of course; but you and I, together out there alone? Oh, the monsters can’t out run the Winchester brothers!”

 

The laugh bubbled out of him and Sam matched it, his arms hugging Dean in return.

 

“Okay Sammy. I’ll run it past Dad- “

 

“Together.” Sam interjected firmly. “I think we should both present our side of the issue and, technically he can’t say no.  I’m done with school, I’m the age of consent in quite a few states, I’m well trained, and I have my big brother right at my side.  His argument options are fairly well limited.”

 

Dean rested his left cheek against Sam’s right. If John Winchester wanted to find something to argue about, there would be no stopping him. “Sounds like you’ve thought about this before.”

 

“Every damn day.” Sam sighed stretching his legs out before him.  “I was just waiting for you to come to the conclusion yourself. Thanks for taking your time by the way.” Sam reached up with a hand and tugged at the short hairs at the nape of Dean’s neck in mock punishment.  Because he was in constant physical contact with Dean at present and moved slow, he knew that his actions would not spook Dean.  He was rewarded by being hugged tighter for several seconds.

 

“You had to get your diploma first. Good thing you graduated early then, isn’t it?”

 

“Yeah.” Sam groaned patting the back of Dean’s head and bringing his arm back around to rest upon Dean’s.  “Otherwise I would have been pushing forty before you asked.”

 

“Thirty.” Dean conceded and the two fell into easy silence once more and watched the stars.

 

“He’ll balk at first.” Sam stated in all seriousness.  “Maybe because he thinks he has too, or because that’s how he actually feels; but either way, he’s gonna say no.”

 

“And I won’t stop trying to convince him until he says yes.”

 

Sam liked the sound of that and Dean could feel his brother’s entire body smile.  “Good answer, Dean.”

 

Dean had to admit that he thought so as well.

~~~~~

John observed the immediate difference in Dean’s manner when the boys returned from their four-day weekend in the mountains.  Dean said even less than before, and any glance he dared raise at John shown with discomfort. It was as if Dean couldn’t distance himself fast enough from his father’s presence.  He obeyed orders, uttered ‘yes, sir’, ‘no, sir’ and did everything expected of him, but if it pertained to anything beyond that Dean said nothing.  John was not a stupid man, and if Dean’s behavior was consistent for over twenty-four hours he knew better than to not question his son.  His reserve lasted two days before he confronted Dean.  The brothers had been doing laundry down the street. Dean had returned to the motel to scrounge John’s wash when he was surprised by John seated on the bed in his own room.  John had been waiting there for the past half hour running the probable conversation he would have with his eldest son, within his head.

 

Dean actually blanched in the doorway as the sunlight illuminated John’s stoic form in the dimness of the room.  He swallowed and held up the auxiliary room key. John nodded well aware of why Dean was present and he rose from the bed and motioned to the only chair in the room by the desk. Dean closed the door and stalked across the room and sat down, back straight, gaze jumping from the only entry and exit points of the room, the door and the window in the wall beside it.  The only light in the room was from the open curtains and it didn’t reach over to where Dean sat, but he could see his father’s expression and he wasn’t certain what to make of it.

 

John rested one hand upon his hip, the other he scrubbed down his face, scratching the palm against the two weeks’ growth of beard.  “He pushed. Damn that kid, picking at wounds without a care to the cost to staunch the flow of blood once they’re open.”  John’s hand dropped the rest of the way to his hip and he studied Dean’s rapidly changing expression.  “He thinks he’s helping but ends up making everything worse.

 

“N-no, sir. He doesn’t.” Dean interjected feeling a slight stab of guilt that he didn’t correct his father’s perception that Sam was not helping Dean instead of harming him. He cleared his throat and steadied his voice before repeating himself.  “Sam’s birthday was fine. He made everything nice for us.”

 

John didn’t look convinced and Dean felt as if he were fighting an uphill battle. He dropped his gaze upon hearing John grunt and shift in his stance. At the movement Dean’s gaze shot back to glue upon his father. John wasn’t in any closer proximity than he had been previously and Dean had to remind himself to relax.  The weight of John’s gaze upon him shadowed his underlining guilt; he should defend Sam; should end the conversation and walk away. Instead Dean sat in silence.

 

“There’s something on your mind, kido. I can see it.”

 

Dean pulled his bottom lip into his mouth and shook his head. “No, sir.”  The lies were quick to tumble out and Dean wished he were back at the laundry mat with Sam and bickering over a superhero, ‘fuck, marry, kill’ list.

 

John placed his laced fingers atop the crown of his head and turned away from Dean, walking a few paces to stare out of the window. The parking lot was fairly deserted and there existed minimal threats to Winchester privacy or safety.

 

“No, sir, yes sir; copy that, sir- Jesus Dean.” John exhaled and lowered his arms to his sides in defeat.  He turned around and looked at his eldest son from across the room.  “That’s all you ever say anymore. I’m, _concerned_ , son. Am I supposed to be doing something more for you?”

 

Dean paled, his expression shifting to horror and he felt light headed.  This conversation wasn’t happening; it was never supposed to see the light and now, here his father was actually trying to ‘help’ him. Panicked, Dean shifted in the chair.

 

“N, no; Dad. You’re not. It’s fine. What you’re doing. I don’t. Wait. Why is this a thing now? Did I do something wrong?”

 

“No, Dean.” John explained a little relief passing through him. “It’s just that you’ve been extra quiet and I’m wondering if Sam, said or did something, that changed the situation for you over the weekend.”

 

“God, no. Sammy- he’s, he’s great. We’re good. In fact,” Dean paused desperate to make his father understand that Sam was not a problem but a solution. Perhaps now was as good as time as any to confront John with the brother’s hunting plan. Granted, Dean knew he should be doing this in Sam’s presence, however the moment was ripe and John required a finesse that Sam just didn’t have in a report with him.

 

“Sam and I have been talking about our future and, we both feel that we’re ready to strike out on our own. The two of us as partners.  That’ll free you up to pursue your leads and not have to worry about the other cases, because Sammy and I’ll take them.” Dean nodded, hoping that his voice sounded as convincing as he was that branching out the Winchester reach was the best course of action for all involved.

 

Of all the conversations that John had run through in his mind this had not been on anywhere near the list.  Disbelief wrapped in incredulous surprise twisted at the corners of John’s mouth and worked its way steadily across the expanse of his face.

 

“You and **Sam** ; hunting, **_alone_**?”  John shook his head as if to clear it and pressed a hand to his forehead. “Jesus, Dean. Of all the harebrained- “He halted in his disapproval and rubbed his tired eyes.  “Sam is not ready to pull his weight, son.” John’s hand lowered from his face and he took a few steps towards Dean, who tensed, eyes fixed hard upon his father.  “Sam is a liability and could easily get you killed! So I want you to put that ‘two of you’ business out of your head right now and- “

 

“He’s a trained hunter.” Dean heard someone state clearly, flatly and firmly in a voice that sounded remarkably like his own.  “He’s quick to assess, adapts in the blink of an eye, is competent in working the public and he knows his lore better than anyone I know; Bobby included.”

 

Finding his voice Dean slowly rose from the chair to stand, one hand extended out slightly before him as if to defend himself from attack, second hand inching to where knife was sheathed at the small of his back.  The movements were an extension of distress on some level, but it was clear that Dean felt threatened, and prepared to fight. John could not ignore that fact.  He just had to find a way to reconcile the words he was hearing from his oldest son about the youngest Winchester.  It shouldn’t have been a surprise really; Dean was ever the dutiful solider and followed John’s every order; unless he disagreed with a situation that centered around Sam.  Sam was Dean’s single Achilles heel and the only issue capable of pitting Dean against John.

 

“Put some experience under his belt, and Sam’s gonna be the **_best_** hunter out there.  I’ve fought to make him better than me; even you. Sammy’s my legacy and I don’t want or trust anyone else to have my back.”  Dean swallowed and shrank a little as John pulled himself up to his full height; he didn’t like being disagreed with and certainly not by Dean about Sam.  “How can you not see that about your own son?”

 

Anger percolated behind John’s dark gaze and he glared at Dean, voice taking a sharp edge. “Because I know Dean! I know what Sam is and if you place your faith in him to come through for you, he’s going to end up getting you killed.”

 

The words were like a slap across the face and Dean dug in to stand his ground. He blinked in disbelief and pity at his real life hero and father.

 

“What Sam is? What Sam **_is_** , is everything in a human being and son a man could want and I for one, believe in him. I’ll choose him every damn time over anyone else on the planet to work with, and why you think he’s a liability I’ll never understand!”

 

John lunged forward and seized Dean by the scruff of the shirt, his son flinched, throwing a defensive punch which John blocked. They grappled for a moment, Dean lashing out in panic, John in annoyed furry. Within a few minutes John held the upper hand and twisted his son around in a full nelson, bent at the waist and held Dean pressed face and chest first into the desk.  The desk chair had been kicked away onto its side, and both males were huffing, Dean frightened but determined. John only tightened his grip and pressed down harder.

 

“Listen to me Dean; Dean!” John growled through clenched teeth and forced a grunt out of his son by pushing him down, his chest partially to Dean’s back. “I know you’re soft when it comes to your brother; but you don’t know everything about him. He’s dangerous and it’s up to you and I to keep him in line; to do what needs to be done when the time comes!”  John paused while Dean thrashed beneath him, kicking out and attempting to release himself from his father’s hold.  He was blind with fear and John held on and allowed Dean to buck and twist, leaking the young man’s energy by quick degrees.

 

“Stop it! That’s an order, solider! Listen!”

 

Dean froze immediately, his breath coming in short, shallow bursts, his eyes were wild and his entire body on a tight wire, trembling threatening to break.  His knife; he couldn’t reach it but he yearned to; if it were possible for his mind to will the weapon into his hand he would have had a hold of the hilt since the beginning of the struggle. John mistook Dean’s petrified terror for obedience and pressed his face close to his son’s.

 

“Sam is marked by evil. Do you understand? He has demon blood in him! In the nursery that night, M-Mary died- “John faltered for an instant and Dean’s struggling ceased, punctuated with the odd spasm every few seconds while he receded into the memories of his attack. Dean’s body reacted with terror but his mind grappled helplessly for meaning to the words his father thrust heedlessly into him.

 

“The demon with yellow eyes was there for Sam. It fed him it’s blood. Do you see now Dean? Sam’s blood is tainted and we have to be prepared to put him down if he turns dark!”

 

Pinned; immobile; pain; trapped; Dean’s breath caught in his throat and he started thrashing a new against John’s words, against the physical triggers pinging through his body; and against the memory of another recent time that he could not leverage another male off of him.  The word ‘no’ built from Dean’s gut, tore up through his chest and out of his mouth; elongated as it exploded within his mind.

 

Sam frowned and shifted in the hard, plastic chair. He had given up trying to read a good ten minutes ago and he checked his wrist watch impatiently. Had all that time really gone by? Had Dean actually been gone for twenty minutes? Sam’s gut clenched; twenty minutes was too long, even if Dean went by the motel vending machine to get them sodas and walked at a snail’s pace, he should have been back to the laundry mat.  Sam rubbed his stomach feeling his skin begin to prickle. He hadn’t been keen on Dean going in the first place, even if the temporary separation would be a benign one. Ever since Dean’s attack Sam had been stuck to his older sibling like a second skin. He acted as Dean’s comfort, protection and touchstone to reality.  Twenty minutes? No; that wasn’t right.

 

Sam stared out into the strip mall parking lot expecting to see Dean saunter through the parked cars with a white, kitchen, trash bag slung over a shoulder in his direction.  No Dean.  His right foot began bouncing rapidly as his leg jangled with agitation and he gazed out at the parking lot a second time.  No Dean. Sam slapped his worn copy of “A Separate Peace” against his palm and then began to methodically roll up the battered book.  Shooting a quick glance back at the laundry still spinning in the two machines they were using, Sam grunted and rose to his feet decision made.  He didn’t feel right; something was wrong and Dean needed him somehow.  There was no rational reason he should believe the way he did, but Sam allowed the doubts to fall away as he made his way towards the laundry mat door and exited into the parking lot.  He began to walk quickly, which turned into a sprint seconds later. He needed to get back to the motel up the street, and he needed to be there now.  The paperback book rolled in one fist, the other pumping at his side, Sam surrendered.

 

At a straight run it took Sam less than five minutes to reach the motel. His hand was on the doorknob to their father’s room, chest barely heaving as he did quite allot of cardio on a weekly basis.  The door was unlocked and Dean’s unmistakable scream of ‘no’, and the sight of John Winchester pinning his son to the desk sucked all the oxygen out of the room for a heartbeat.  The sight went straight from Sam’s gaze and exploded in a white, hot, rage within his body. Livid, molten anger and blood lust consumed him and Sam reached out to his father with one intent; STOP. There was no other solution but to pry him off of his brother, and Sam felt his body fly forward.

 

“ **GET OFF OF _HIM_**!”

 

John Winchester was torn away from Dean with enough force to dislocate both of his shoulders when he flew back into the opposite wall.  His body indented the plaster, his head bouncing like a rubber ball on impact, and he crumpled to the floor unconscious.  Sam’s form filled the motel room doorway, palms open at his sides bleeding from the previous indention of his nails.  His nose had a trickle of blood beneath the right nostril, his body trembling in the aftermath of his burst of emotion.  Dean now freed from his father’s hold, collapsed onto the carpet on all fours. Limbs shaking, he sat down and pushed away with his feet from the floor to press his back into the wall. One trembling hand drawing his knife and holding it out before him, slashing at anything that moved.  Torn between a horrific moment of his past and the insanity of his present, Dean groped for anything to make sense beyond the weight of steel in his hand. Shock shattered, Sam raced over to his terrified brother and on his knees before him.

 

“De!” Sam soothed trying to get Dean’s wild eyes to look away from John’s direction and focus upon his own eyes. “Dean! It’s okay. Shhhh. I’m here. It’s me, Sammy!”

 

Dean blinked a few times his gaze coming into focus on Sam’s safe and adored features.  Wait, Sam was here? Wasn’t he; at somewhere; the laundry mat? Yes; laundry.  Sam was real; Sam was safe; Sam was home. Dean’s head cocked to one side.

 

“Sammy?”

 

“Yeah, De. Hi.” Sam’s palms were raised for Dean to see and he placed them gently upon his older brother’s up raised knees. “Can, can I have this?” Sam asked reaching towards the knife.  Dean’s grip relinquished its hold and Sam placed the knife on the floor out of reach.  He then returned his hands to Dean’s knees.  “You okay? Huh? I’m here.” He said gently touching Dean’s face.  “You with me now, De?”

 

“Y-yeah. Sure Sammy. I’m here.” Dean managed to utter, his voice quaking with overwrought emotion.

 

“Good. Me too. Both of us are together now. It’s okay, De.” Sam insisted leaning forward to push his face against Dean’s.  “S’okay. I got you.”

 

“Your nose.” Dean protested softly, gently nudging Sam back from his face. He lifted a hand and pressed his fingertips lightly upon the crimson smudge beneath Sam’s nostril. “You’re hurt.”

 

“That? No, not hurt. It’s, I don’t know, it’s dry or something out. Nose bleed; I’m not hurt.” He felt his own body shivering abruptly as the residual rage was expelled out of him. He moved to sit down with his back against the wall beside his brother. “C’mere.” He pulled Dean into his embrace and held him tight. “S’okay. We’re together. S’alright; just you and me, Dean. Like it’s supposed to be.”

 

Thankfully Dean clung to Sam and said nothing further. Sam gently pet Dean’s head, placed tender kisses upon his crown and soothed his older sibling until they both stopped shaking.  John lay still across the room from them and Sam couldn’t help but hope that he would never move. He hadn’t meant to attack his father; to drag him off of Dean and strike him until they fell against the wall.  That’s what must have happened, even if he didn’t remember touching his father or laying any blows. Yet Sam knew he must have been a whirlwind of limbs and rage because John was hurting Dean; terrifying his brother and that was unacceptable. It didn’t matter to Sam what had transpired prior to his arrival; in his mind Dean could have done nothing so bad that John could have lain into him in such a way.  The sooner the two of them confronted John and took off on their own the better it would be for the entire family.

 

“I got you, De.”

 

Shock was slow to halt its cascade over Dean and after a few minutes of pressing his face against the side of Sam’s throat, his heart rate had slowed and he felt more abased in the moment.  He raised his head and locked gazes with his little brother.  “Sammy? No matter what happens; you and I are gonna pack up and leave just like we said we were. We’re going to hunt together. Alright?”

 

“Yes, yeah. I mean, of course.” Sam soothed of Dean’s near frantic urging. “Just like we planned; you and me; all the cases together. I want that.”  Sam could see that Dean was desperate for Sam to understand that whatever had happened today that he would not allow John to influence their plans. For that, Sam was thankful.  John was Dean’s personal hero and getting him to stand apart from their father was a daunting task on the best of days.

 

Dean nodded before resting his head back down against his brother’s throat.

 

“We’ll leave in a few minutes.” Sam promised running his hands gently over Dean’s back, and through his hair. “How’s that sound?”

 

“Yeah. I want that.”

 

“Okay then.” Sam kissed Dean’s forehead and continued to comfort his brother.  “That’s what we’re doing.”  Sam felt exhausted yet Dean’s breathing was becoming more rhythmic so he continued his gentle administrations of reassurance.  Sam’s gaze slowly rolled over to his left watching the sun fill the open motel room door and the lazy uncurling of the paperback book on the threshold.  He never even felt himself let go of the book; not that it mattered; nothing mattered now.

 

Except Dean and he were together.


	3. Bad for Dean: Hobbits and Stars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam and Dean return to the cabin.

They didn’t talk about it.  Dean didn’t talk at all for a few days and Sam was too exhausted to confront what had occurred. For seventy-two hours, the Winchester brothers lived inside of their own heads in virtual silence.  When it came to dealing with the public at gas stations, diners and motels, Sam was the one that handled all the business transactions and personal interactions.  Sam took care of everything; including driving Baby; and all he wanted to do was hole up for a few days and sleep.  On the fourth day of elected silence Sam got his wish.

 

Sam was face down in the pillow practically and sleeping on his stomach, which was unusual position for him.  Therefore, Dean sat in the only available chair in the room. He had turned it to face the bed and he watched Sam sleep. He was so still that on several occasions Dean had to walk over and make certain his little brother was still breathing.  After the panic subsided he would sit back down in the chair and stare at Sam again.  The younger Winchester didn’t move a muscle either, which was also a-typical of his sleeping habits.  Normally he stretched, flailed, cuddled and was hardly content until he maneuvered to lie on top of Dean at some point during the night.

 

Sam didn’t move and neither did Dean.

 

The room went from sunshine to moonlight and neither brother budged from their comatose state.  Around ten at night Dean pulled the cellphone out of his pocket and looked at it.  Upon separating from their father, the brothers had ditched their old phones and purchased burner replacements.  Dean’s hand closed around the hard plastic and he wondered what was happening to his father.  He vividly recalled checking for a pulse against John’s jugular and finding a strong rhythm.  After that minor concession, Sam had ushered them out of the room and to the Impala, going quickly to retrieve their clean clothes from the laundry mat.  Sam had driven until they had burned through quite a few tanks of gas, stared at small meals more than ate them, and kept driving until Sam couldn’t see straight any longer.  That first night they slept at a truck stop threaded together in the backseat, and the second night behind a billboard for cigarettes off the shoulder of an access road. In all that time Dean, had never once pondered over John’s health or even felt the urge to call him.

 

Now Dean, didn’t feel anything.

 

He didn’t know what to do next.  They couldn’t return to John; not with him talking such utter insanity about Sam and that November night in 1982.  Also, they couldn’t go to Bobby Singers’ in South Dakota because that would be the first-place John would head to seek them.  They needed to disappear; to sift through the events of John and Dean’s discussion turned chaos; and then take a case.  Dean was a hunter; if he wasn’t that now, what else could be said of him? He was nothing, no one and his fate was cast before him on a long road of monsters and death.

 

He couldn’t remember if he had dreams of another life; before the rape; before hunting possibly; but not after.  He knew that ultimately the next portion of his life yet again, would not be about him but Sam.  Dean could live with that and gladly.  Sam was his everything and it was ingrained within his DNA. If John truly believed that the yellow eyed demon had come to feed Sam it’s blood in the nursery that night, then he must have gotten his intelligence from somewhere. Someone must have said something to him, or there existed some type of evidence.  Dean refused to believe what his father told him as anything but lies until there was conclusive evidence to refute it.  John Winchester was not a stupid man, or ignorant; if he truly believed his youngest son was tainted with demon blood then-but **_how_**? That was the burning question that needed answering and Dean was skeptical. He had seen what a singular devotion to revenge cost his father, and he wasn’t certain he wanted to follow John down that particular rabbit hole.  Also, Dean had to consider that he had one resource at hand that John didn’t; Sam.

 

Utilizing Sam’s brilliant mind meant having to expose the secret that their father had obviously been harboring for some time.  It meant severing any emotional tie that Sam still maintained with John; however precariously; for good.  If tables had been reversed and Dean listened to Sam reveal the current speculation, he would be enraged, terrified and subsequently altered forever. Not that Dean wasn’t already, yet not for the alleged presence of a demon’s blood.  John had always been extremely tight lipped regarding his sources and methodologies for tracking the yellow eyed demon, but between the two brothers, Dean was confident that he and Sam could figure out those sources.

 

Dean closed his eyes and squeezed the phone harder in his hands.  Damn his father for believing the unthinkable.  Was it merely a delusional excuse for John to blame Sam for Mary’s death? He had always treated Sam differently from Dean, and no amount of wishing on Dean’s part could refute that.  However, Dean had always believed that at the core of everything John Winchester loved his youngest son; now? He was no longer certain.  Dean bowed his head forward and closed his eyes tightly. How could John do this to them? And how in the hell was Dean supposed to fix it?  For now, all he wanted to do was return to the cabin and hold Sam on in his arms up on the roof and stare at the stars.

 

“Dean?”

 

Dean’s head snapped up and he opened his eyes. Sam was sitting up on the edge of the bed, feet on the floor and the sheet tangled in his legs.

 

“Yeah Sammy?”

 

“Are you guarding me?”

 

Dean considered the question and then exhaled a mirthless laugh.  “Yeah, Baby Boy. I am.” His forty-five was tucked into the back of his belt at the small of his back.

 

“Did you feel unsafe because I was asleep and you weren’t?”

 

Dean shook his head.  “Just watching over you.”

 

Sam stretched his arms up above his head, torso gracefully swaying from one side and then to the other.  “If it were anyone but you doing it, I’d feel creeped out.” Sam sighed and lowered his arms, his smile visible under the lights on in the parking lot.

 

“You should.” Dean took his phone in his left hand and held Sam’s gaze, watching the smile invert from his little brother’s face.  “What do I do?” He asked in indication of the cell phone.

 

Sam frowned. “What do you _want_ to do?”

 

“If I knew that I wouldn’t be asking you.”

 

“No, no Dean.” Sam soothed of his brother’s abrupt annoyance.  “I didn’t mean it like, ‘what does your heart tell you’; I meant, ‘are you ready to talk to me about it yet’? The whole thing, or even to forgive John? Cause you don’t have to do either of those things if you don’t want to. Well, except the talk to me part; but forgiving? That’s up to you.”

 

Dean smiled tenderly at Sam. “You wouldn’t forgive him.” John; not Dad, but John: the deliberate titling of their father by Sam didn’t escape Dean’s notice.

 

“No. But I’m not you. You should be true to yourself and if it’s not to forgive him, then great. If it is? Still great. Either way I’m on your side. I saw him; what he was doing to you and it scared me Dean.” It had also enraged him beyond the capacity to reason.

 

“I know Sammy.” He didn’t feel it necessary to parrot that the incident had terrorized him either.  “I just… For the first time since,” Dean paused the unspoken words _, ‘the night of the rape’_ dangled in the air between them. “I don’t know what to do. Except catch a case with you and do what we discussed; from now on just be the two of us together.”

 

Sam nodded and used the silence of the room to think while he untangled the sheet from his legs.  He didn’t remember taking off his jeans, or even his socks and sneakers but that was irrelevant. Dean always took care of him and had never stopped; even at his lowest moments in his young life Dean still placed Sam’s needs before his own.  He stilled and looked up at Dean once more.

 

“So you just want to go immediately back to hunting?”  He cocked his head to one side and watched Dean look away across the room.  “Tell me, Dean. I can see it on your face there’s something else.”

 

Dean sighed plaintively and shook his head.  “I’m just another book to you aren’t I, Sam?” He reached out with his empty right hand.  “The cabin. I want to go back for a few days; just until…. Just for a little while.  But I don’t know if he’ll go there looking for us.”

 

Sam considered John’s possible thought process and shook his head.  “He won’t. He’ll think that we’re trying to outsmart him, and instead of heading to the West Coast like he’ll assume we considered, he’ll head East.  He’ll at least call, or drop by Bobby’s just to make sure we’re not there, but I don’t think the cabin will even enter his mind.  We’ve never used it before and if we did go to a location like that, it would be someone else’s.” Sam shrugged. “He doesn’t know or understand us like we do him.”

 

Dean hung his head forward and rubbed the back of his neck, immensely grateful that Sam wasn’t against the idea of returning to the mountains. They would have to back track a few states, maybe move up or down the map a little just to be safe, but they would get there.  Dean lowered his hand and tossed his cell phone onto the bedside table.

 

“I never thought it’d come to this. Having to think, and then counter and out think, those decisions to stay clear of Dad.”

 

“It’s not our fault.” Sam reminded softly. He rose from the bed and moved to where Dean sat and lowered himself to his knees before his older sibling.  “His hyper focus on avenging Mom’s death blinds him to everything else. It’s the way he is Dean.” Sam hovered his hands above Dean’s knees and only lowered them to touch him when Dean gave him a slight nod.  “He’s lost in his grief and we can’t reach him; I don’t think anyone can now.  I’m sorry, Dean, but all we can do is take care of each other.”

 

“I know.” Dean placed his hands atop Sam’s, thumbs stroking the top of his wrists.  “Just, never thought we’d get here is all.”

 

Sam leaned up and placed a tender kiss upon Dean’s forehead. When he sat back his smile was loving and conveyed a reflection of everything that made Dean love him as deeply as he did.  “No matter what, Dean: I will always be your family. **_Always_**.”

 

“I know Sammy.” He leaned forward until his own forehead was pressed against Sam’s and they were nose tip, to nose tip.  After a few seconds, he kissed the tip of Sam’s nose and sat back. “Wanna plan out our route, or are you still sleepy?”

 

Sam beamed, smile a bright point in the darkness of the room.  “Let’s plan.”  Dean realized that his little brother was just as keen to get on the road as he was.

~~~~~

It took five days of driving, procuring funds and supplies before the brothers made it to the mountains.  The moment they arrived Sam watched the tension melt off Dean’s shoulders as he set about carrying in their supplies and putting their food stuffs away.  Sam brought in their duffels, sans the weapons carrier and opened a few windows to air out the place.  He made certain they had clean sheets and an extra blanket on the on the bed before returning to the kitchen and Dean.  He held up a thick novel he had taken from his bag and waved it at Dean, delighting in the genuine beaming smile he got in return.

 

“No way, really Sammy? The Hobbit?”

 

Sam tilted his head to one side and shrugged. “I kinda _had_ too. I mean, those pulp novels weren’t gonna cut it the whole time.” And he knew that Dean loved the book and hadn’t heard, nor read it since Sam had been in elementary school.  “Figure we can start it tonight?”

 

“Fuck that.” Dean pulled one of the chairs out from the kitchen table. “Have a seat, Baby Boy.”

 

Sam couldn’t help but chuckle as he obeyed, watching Dean fill a plastic cup with ice and pop the top of a soda can before setting it on the table in front of Sam. His gaze was bright; expression expectant and Sam couldn’t refuse him even if he had wished too.  Sam thanked his ingenuity at having bought the book from a second-hand store and held on to it ever since he was in middle school.  The purchase had proved a wise one indeed. Given half the chance Dean might have become an even greater nerd than he accused Sam of being, and the thought warmed Sam’s heart.

 

Once Dean had finished putting their supplies away and checking to make certain the refrigerator was on and functioning, the boys retired to the living area. They collapsed upon the couch, Sam with his feet on the coffee table, and Dean laying down with his head in Sam’s lap, legs stretched out along the top of the couch.  Sam read until dusk, his soda was gone and his voice a little rough.  Dean raised to make them dinner, leaving Sam to stretch out on the couch and chat with his older sibling.  He dozed off a couple of times and was awoken by the gentle touch of fingers in his hair.

 

“C’mon, Sammy. You hungry?”

 

Sam purred and opened his eyes, before smiling up at Dean affectionately.  “Yeah. Just got sleepy. Sorry.”

 

“S’okay.” Dean assured him touching the backs of his fingers to Sam’s cheek as if checking for a temperature. He wasn’t, but he stroked the soft skin, thumb stroking at the peach fuzz before Sam’s left ear.  “Do you have one of those headaches?”  Sam had been suffering off and on the past week with the occasional migraine and Dean was concerned. While Sam was flippant about their existence, Dean could read his little brother’s body and the headaches were excruciating for him. Sometimes the only thing Sam could do was hope to fall asleep and wake up in less pain; nothing he took of the over the counter drugs had worked.  If the trend continued Dean knew there would be no choice but to take Sam to a clinic.

 

“No. M’good.” Sam assured truthfully. He relished the caressing of his face and attempted to place a kiss upon Dean’s wrist.  “Feels good.”

 

“You’re like a sleepy puppy.” Dean teased affectionately before withdrawing his hand. “Get up. Foods waiting.”

 

With a plaintive sigh Sam obeyed.

 

Over dinner Dean watched Sam from across the small table.  While he usually had a healthy appetite, tonight he was pushing his food around more than he was eating it. Sam knew that look; his brother had a topic on his mind that he was mulling over how to broach it with Sam.  Allowing Dean to reveal it in his own time, Sam ate quietly and shot Dean several encouraging smiles when their eyes met.

 

“I called Bobby.”

 

Sam tensed and Dean felt the blanch from across the table, the atmosphere of the room instantly constricting. He swallowed and raised his gaze to Sam.

 

“Dad called him when we left. Gave some bullshit excuse about a hunt gone sideways.  Did you know that both his shoulders were dislocated?”

 

Sam’s jaw tensed. “So? I saw what he was doing to you Dean. He didn’t care what you were feeling. He wanted to dominate you and he did.  If he had to lie there in agony until Bobby could drive down then, good. I hope he remembers that pain and never touches you like that again!”

 

Dean nodded and ran a finger over his left eyebrow trying to release the twitch of the muscle there.  He took a deep breath and looked at his little brother and lowered his hand.

 

“I’m not saying that he didn’t deserve what he got. All I want you to know is that I touched base with Bobby and told him our side of the story.”

 

“The facts then.” God only knew what John had said about the incident. Sam wasn’t even certain what all had transpired before his arrival, but he wanted to know, and Dean was going to tell him one way or the other.

 

“I wanted him to know that we’re going to be out of contact for a while and why. I didn’t want him to worry.”

 

Sam’s manner softened.  “I’m glad you called him then.  Did you tell him everything?”

 

Dean shook his head.

 

“When are you going to tell me what happened?”

 

Dean shrugged and wouldn’t make eye contact.  “It’s; _complicated_.”

 

“No.” Disagreed Sam careful not to allow his voice to sound too stern.  “It’s simple. You said something John didn’t agree with and he got rough with you. It’s not the first time he’s been like that.”

 

Dean’s gaze shot up, his features paling.  “Sam, has he ever laid hands on you?”

 

Sam scoffed. “ _Laid hands on_ me? No, Dean. He’s hit me. Never in the face where you could see, and he’s twisted my arms behind me when I was scrawnier. It was intermittent but stopped when I turned fifteen because of my last growth spurt and I really started fighting back.”

 

Dean felt nauseous.  “I, I never knew that.”

 

“I know you didn’t and I never wanted you too.”  Sam understood he was the only one of John’s sons the man had ever gotten abusive with.  Dean was his golden solider; until he abruptly wasn’t.  Everything shifted after Dean’s rape and Sam was quite confident that John still loved Dean, even if he didn’t have the slightest idea of how to interact with him now.  However, reconciling the event he had walked into a week prior was nearly impossible and he hoped that Dean would shed light upon it soon.

 

“I’m going to kill him.”

 

Sam witnessed the dark flare of intent behind Dean’s eyes and he had no doubts that if John Winchester had been in the room right at that instant, that Dean would have made good on his statement.  Sam reached across the table and rested his hand just millimeters from Dean’s. When Dean closed the slight distance a second later, Sam took his brother’s hand.

 

“Listen to me Dean; it’s done; over. I’m never going back to living or hunting with that man again. You and I are the only family we have now. If you want to still be in contact with him, that’s up to you; but I’m done.” His gaze silently pleaded with Dean to embrace the same vow.  “He’s not the man you knew when Mom was alive, De. Not anymore. I’m sorry but he’s gone and all we have left is John.”

 

Dean’s eyes misted with regret from the loss of his hero and father; for the ill treatment Sam received at his hands; and Dean’s inability to have seen the situation and rescued his little brother.  Another failure in a long line of disappointments.  Dean squeezed Sam’s hand and wished, not for the first time, that he had died that night from internal injuries with blood loss.  If anything, it would have spared Sam having to forgive him one more time for not being there when he was most needed.

 

It was easy for Sam to read his brother’s expression and know what to say. “It’s okay, Dean.” Sam soothed brushing his thumb across the back of Dean’s knuckles.  “I’m fine, and there was nothing you could have done.”

 

There were a million and one things he could have attempted and Dean’s expression televised them all.  Sam smiled gently at him and shook his head, and after a few seconds Dean nodded in acceptance.  He cleared his throat and pushed his plate away with the opposite hand, no longer hungry.

 

“C’mere.” Dean tugged at Sam’s hand and Sam rose from his chair.  Dean waited for Sam to move around the table to his side before pushing his own chair back and standing up. He pulled Sam into an affectionate embrace, holding him tightly and resting a hand at the back of his little brother’s head.

 

Sam hugged back fierce in his intent and smiled against the side of Dean’s throat.  He loved his brother and could feel Dean’s own great love for him reflected tenfold.  It hadn’t been so long ago, just a year and a half, that Sam had to stand up on his toes a little to embrace Dean high up on the chest, and now he was an inch taller than his brother.  After a while the boys separated and Dean patted Sam on his back.

 

“You still hungry, Sammy?”

 

Sam shook his head.  “We can put it in the fridge for later though.  Stars should be out soon. Wanna climb up on the roof again?”

 

Dean’s eyes shined with excess moister and Sam knew he had said exactly the right thing.  Quickly Dean agreed and began clearing the table. He put tinfoil over their plates and stored them in the refrigerator while Sam wiped the table down and quickly washed the silverware and glasses.  After applying a little bit of bug repellant, the Winchester boys went outside and Dean gave Sam a lift up to the porch eaves, before he leapt up and caught the ledge and pulled himself up. Sam helped a little by grabbing onto Dean’s arms, and they moved to the apex of the roof to settle in.  Fireflies entertained them for a short while before shutting off one by one, and the stars began to appear in the night sky.

 

This time Sam sat above Dean, his long legs parted for Dean to wedge between against his chest.  Dean laughed, attempting to hide his embarrassment but Sam didn’t tease him for blushing; a warming of his skin that Sam could feel rather than see.  Instead he hushed Dean by stroking the side of his face and neck, until his older sibling was pushing his head into Sam’s palm.  It amused him how cat like his brother could be; he was adorable but telling Dean that would start a physical altercation on the roof and end in both falling off it.  At least, Sam knew it would have in the past; now, he wasn’t exactly certain what Dean would do.  The knowledge wasn’t something he liked; it bothered him that he couldn’t predict Dean’s behavior as well as he used to. The rape had changed how Dean processed and reacted to situations.  To calm himself, Sam encircled his arms around Dean’s waist and stomach, hugging him close but keeping his legs and arms loose enough that Dean could easily slip out of his grasp.

 

Dean pressed back against Sam’s chest, the cotton of his brother’s hoody soft against his bare arms. Dean’s leather jacket hand-me-down was resting on the shingles to his right, and the tee shirt he was wearing was warm enough; especially now that Sam’s arms were around him.  Dean pushed his head back against Sam’s shoulder, pressing his face against his little brother’s, while Sam rested his chin right where Dean’s throat met his shoulder.

 

“How do you like being the big spoon?”

 

“It’s kinda nice.” Sam smiled pulling his arms a little tighter around Dean’s stomach.  “You’re very soft.”

 

“Shut your mouth.” Dean teased through a laugh.  Sam waited a few more seconds before loosening his embrace once again.  “No.” Dean said resting his hands upon Sam’s forearms to get him to hug tighter. “It’s okay. I want you too.”

 

Sam’s arms constricted a little more and Dean relaxed within his embrace.  “I’m glad, De. I love holding you as much as I do you holding me.”

 

“Y’re such a girl.” Dean said without any conviction behind it.  The words were reflexive and an empty taunt that they both recognized. Instead of verbally parrying Sam hugged tighter.

 

“Sometimes I think I don’t give you as much as I should.  I mean, you do everything for me, De.  The least I can do is- “

 

“Stop it.” Dean urged firmly without anger. “Whatever I do for you, gives me back that and more.  Sammy, if I didn’t have you to take care of, I’d just- “Dean paused and cast his gaze heavenward.  “Be here for nothing.”

 

Sam rubbed his face against Dean’s, feeling the beginning of stubble rough against his cheek.  “I love you so much Dean. If not for you I’d be here for nothing too.”

 

“I know.” Dean patted Sam’s forearm and then laced his fingers with one of Sam’s hands.  “That’s why we’re brothers; so, we’ve got reason to exist.”

 

Sam sighed softly, the rush of breath on Dean’s skin giving him a slight chill down his spine. The sound of Sam’s voice rolled through his limbs and torso, making Dean feel heavy and comfortable.

 

“Tell me you love me. Please?”

 

“Why, Sammy? You know I do.”

 

“Tell me anyway.”

 

“Fine.” Dean paused for a few heartbeats. “I love you, Sammy.”

 

“Thank you, De.” Sam flourished his gratitude with a quick kiss to Dean’s cheek.  He returned to his previous stance and for a few minutes the brothers watched the sky in silence.

 

“Why did you need to hear it?”

 

Dean’s question was spoken so softly if Sam’s head had not been so close to his brother’s he may have missed it.

 

“Because.  We talked about John earlier and I know you’re upset about him getting hurt.”

 

Dean shrugged a shoulder in protest.  “He pinned me and you had to stop him. You did what you had too, Sammy.”

 

Sam grunted in soft agreement and nuzzled into Dean’s neck before commenting further.  “I won’t forgive him for what he did to you.”

 

Dean reached up with his free hand to gently comb his fingers through Sam’s hair.  “S’okay Sammy. No one’s asking you too.”

 

“Thanks, De.” Dean patted Sam’s cheek and then lowered his hand, embracing Sam’s arms with it. For the next ten minutes the two sat in silence star gazing. Only when Dean shifted on his behind to push back even more against Sam, did the silence sever.  “If you’re cold why don’t you put on your jacket?”

 

“No. M’fine. Just started to get numb butt.” Not the entire truth, but telling Sam he was acutely aware of the press of Sam’s crotch to his lower back and ass, didn’t feel like words he could utter.  It wasn’t an unpleasant sensation because after all, it was Sam touching him. There was an innate trust there he held with no other living being on the planet.  Also, Sam was well in the know of why Dean avoided touch from the rest of the populace.

 

“Dean?”

 

“Yeah Sammy?”

 

“Will you tell me why John did that to you?”

 

Sam instantly regretted asking when he felt Dean’s spine snap ridged against him.  Every muscle in his brother’s body became a trip wire resonating in wait for unsuspecting prey to strike it.  Guilt swelled up within Sam’s chest but he knew that he was doing the right thing; Dean needed to talk to him and it couldn’t wait another four or five months to surface; not this time.

 

“I’m sorry, Dean. It’s just,”

 

“Shh.” Dean silenced closing his eyes and fighting to regulate his breathing before he ramped up into a full-scale panic attack.  “I’ll tell you. But not like this. I need to see your face.”

 

Sam opened his arms severing his hand holding with Dean.  After a few seconds Dean was seated to Sam’s left. Sam had his knees pulled up towards his chest, his fore arms resting upon his knees.  Dean however was nearly Indian style running his palms up and down his thighs in attempts to distract himself as well as to dry his hands.  He had been dreading this inevitable conversation but Sam had been more than patient.  Sam gazed at Dean, his expression open, nonjudgmental and his body relaxed. Dean smiled apologetically at him in return and took a deep breath before beginning his explanation.

 

“He was in the room when I went in to pick up his clothes.  I don’t think he left like he said he was going to. I don’t know if he was waiting specifically for me, or what, but he was just there.  We started talking and I decide to tell him about how we’re gonna hunt together. And he- “Dean faltered, swallowing and arching his neck back to face the night sky.  There were so many stars he was momentarily distracted by their twinkling masses.  Sam waited patiently for Dean to continue, his brow furrowing slightly with curiosity as well as worry.

 

Dean sighed and turned his expression back to that of his brother.  “He was against it, not because you’re young, or unfit as a hunter; but because he feels you’re… **_tainted_** somehow. That if I hunt with you alone, I’ll end up getting hurt or worse.”

 

Stunned, Sam looked out into the night and shook his head before addressing his older brother.  “Does John really hate me so much that he thinks I’d intentionally put your life at risk?”

 

“He doesn’t hate you, Sam.” The words burst forth from Dean’s mouth like second nature, and for the first time in his life he realized that sentiment was a lie.  He watched Sam’s lips move, faintly acknowledged the words he was hearing were protests of the contrary from his little brother.  Struck dumb, Dean scrolled through memories and abrupt clarity donned upon him at last.  Sam had always been treated differently, sometimes the differences subtle, other times a vast contrast.  The reveal earlier in the evening that John had struck Sam before, now seemed to resonate once more within Dean, acid searing his throat and anger heating in his veins.  How could anyone; even John Winchester; treat Sam so horribly? Demon blood or not, Sam was Dean’s little brother and the only person currently keeping him tethered to sanity.  He didn’t deserve to be condemned and hated so.

 

“Dean?” Worry furrowed Sam’s brow and he reached out with a hand and lightly placed it upon Dean’s forearm.  His silence was disconcerting to Sam.

 

“S’sorry.” Dean apologized starting a little at the unexpected physical contact. It wasn’t a violent flinch, because he knew deep within his mind what Sam’s touch felt like.  Dean wet his lips with a quick swipe of his tongue and clasped Sam’s hand within his own.  “When d- _John_ said that, it was like he wasn’t speaking English for a second there. I mean, I heard the words but there is no one I trust more than I do you.” Dean swallowed and raised his gaze from their union of hands to Sam’s features grayed in the dimness of the stars.  “You’d die before you’d let someone, or something hurt me. Just like you know I’d do for you; no question.”

 

Sam nodded, all too relieved that Dean didn’t believe their father’s words.  “So then, was that all he said? That I’m tainted and a liability?”

 

Dean immediately shook his head.  “He said that, when you were a baby; the night mom died in the nursery fire- It was because there was a demon in the room.  A demon that had fed you some of its blood.”  Shock seized Sam’s features and for a split second he wasn’t certain he had heard Dean properly, yet his older brother squeezed his hand tightly and continued sharply, “Listen to me, Sammy. It’s what he said, and I’m not going to just take it on face value without vetting his sources. Okay? You and I are gonna retrace his steps and research this on our own.  And whatever it is we find out? Doesn’t change that you’re my Baby Boy, or what a good man you are. Blood doesn’t make you evil or good, it’s your deeds; your values; what you fight and stand for that matters. Do you hear me little brother?”

 

Sam nodded and pulled his hand from Dean’s grasp. He opened his arms and Dean reached out and pulled him into an embrace.

 

“It doesn’t matter to me what is, or is not inside you, Sammy. I know who you are.” Dean whispered into Sam’s right ear.

 

Sam closed his eyes and after a few seconds eased out of the embrace.  He took a breath and nodded, before raising his gaze to lock with Dean’s.  There was so much tenderness and concern in his older brother’s eyes that it was heartwarming, but Sam knew there was much more to be said.

 

“Dean, if what John said is true that means that- “Sam faltered and bit his bottom lip, gaze misting a little with the intensity of the emotions rolling through him in an uncontrollable torrent.  “it’s my fault that mom is dead.  The demon wouldn’t have been in the room that night if not for me. She died protecting me De. I killed mom!”

 

“No!” Dean insisted shaking his head and grabbing a hold of his little brother’s face within his palms.  “Sammy? Listen to me: you were a **_baby_**. Whatever happened that night was not your fault. How could it be? Babies don’t call demons, or drink blood without being forced to. Babies don’t kill their mothers, okay? _None_ of this is **_your_** fault!”

 

“But- “

 

“Enough, Sammy!” Dean held his face fast, his tone abruptly softening to a whispered plea. “You were a baby. That’s the end of it. Hear me?”

 

Reluctantly Sam nodded, his eyes closing for a few seconds to shield against Dean’s notice of the lie.  Fine; he may have been a new born but it was still his fault; but right now, he would push that aside to focus upon Dean. Sam sniffed and attempted to smile reassuringly as Dean lowered his hands from his face to Sam’s shoulders.

 

“So we’ll figure this out?”

 

“Yeah.” Dean vowed pulling Sam closer to him. “We will. Promise.” He kissed Sam’s temple and the two sat in silence for several long moments while the stars looked down upon them.

 

Sleep did not come easily for Sam that night.  He lay with his head upon Dean’s chest and shoulder, one arm slung over his older brother protectively; legs tangled with Dean’s.  He couldn’t help but ruminate on their prior conversation upon the roof of the cabin.  Demon blood; his mother’s death; John’s barely vailed hatred of him; now the pieces that were always eluding him fell into place.  John treated his son’s differently because one was evil; therefore, the source of his deepest misery; the loss of Mary Winchester. While he understood that Dean would never blame him, or hold him responsible for their mother’s death; Sam would carry the guilt with him for the rest of his life now.  And how could he not? He had demon blood within his veins and his father hated him.  It didn’t take much of a leap to assume that John wanted him dead, and one day would send him the way of all the other supernatural creatures they had faced.

 

After wallowing within the confines of his anguish for long minutes, Sam began to consider the event that lead to his splintering from their father with Dean.  That day in the motel when John had a terrified Dean pinned to the dresser and was spouting hatred in his ear.  The details had been somewhat fuzzy for him until now; he didn’t recall laying his hands upon John, or crossing the room until John was unconscious on the floor.  He remembered clearly propelling himself towards Dean and touching his brother; but not John.  Dean said there had been blood underneath Sam’s nose, and while Sam had the migraine of all migraines, and was exhausted, he was otherwise whole. Concentrating on the moments he stood in the threshold of the motel room door, he began to see that he had _thought_ about stopping John, and the results were obvious.  He was so enraged, a little frightened and determined to stop his father, that he had mentally yanked him off his older brother, and catapulted his father across the room.  What other explanation was there? The lie he had told himself and Dean? The lie they both eagerly swallowed because the truth was just too overwhelming to look at?  The lie had protected them both, yet now that Dean had shared the secret about Sam’s demon blood, there was a direct correlation between cause and effect. Sam had used telekinetic powers to stop John; powers most likely drawn from the demon blood. He would have to do some research beyond what he and Dean were already committed to do, but seeking answers had never been an obstacle for him before. This was important and both brother’s understood that.

 

Sam flattened his hand upon Dean’s chest and rubbed small circles to offer himself comfort, and remind Dean’s subconscious that he was with him.  Dean would do anything for Sam; anything; and Sam well knew it.  In turn he would sacrifice anything for Dean, and after tonight Sam realized that Dean understood that, accepted it.  They needed one another and no matter what they discovered about John’s sources, that Dean would not abandon Sam.  Sam’s jaw tensed; but what if the power inside of him that had hurled John across the room developed? What if it turned him against Dean? Sam couldn’t bear that possibility. He vowed to himself that if it came to the point that evil outweighed good within him, that he would separate himself from his older brother.  Unless he could learn to control the power inside of him, that option was a high-risk probability, and Sam refused to take that chance.

 

“S’okay De.” Sam whispered gently to his brother. “I got you. I’ve got you.”


	4. Bad for Dean: Recovering on the Run

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Winchester Brothers escape and discover things about Sam that change everything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updating has been slow due to a bout of depression, the death of my dearest doggie son and just life. In addition this is a difficult piece to write due to my Dean muse being traumatized and pissed as hell at me for having this happen to him. He loves the Sam interactions and so do I. 
> 
> Enjoy!

Bad for Dean: Recovering on the Run

The pain was blinding but somehow John crawled out of unconsciousness and forced himself to sit up.  His head swam, dizziness lurched, but John managed to remain upright, even if he used the wall to support himself with.  His shoulders were on fire, the joints screaming and he was barely able to move them, but he identified the pain. Dislocated; both arms; John needed help and he needed it now.  John pressed his left shoulder against the wall, moving it into position as best as possible; before he sat back, rocked forward violently, only to crash as hard as he was able too into the wall. The wall shook, his vertigo spasmed, and agony exploded up his arm, into his neck, and down through his back.

 

John groaned and rotated his shoulder a little before the action resulted in the locking his muscles.  Not completely in place, but just enough for him to be able to regain slight use of the arm without passing out.  John groped in his front jeans pocket for his cell phone, feeling the sweat run down the back of his neck and forehead.  The exertion of movement was forcing him to focus on the moment and one movement at a time. He was going to get through this but not without pain.  Hand shaking, John used his thumb to scroll through his list of contacts settling upon Caleb; one of his oldest hunting friends, and a man he well trusted.  John struggled to regulate his breathing and not pant into the phone, when on the fourth ring Caleb answered.

 

“Where are you? A hunt?”

 

“John? Jesus Winchester, don’t even bother saying hello anymore? Just blurt out like that?”

 

John swallowed and squeezed his eyes shut. His vertigo was threatening to pushing him to the floor once more, and his muscles were seizing up rapidly.  “I need your help, man. I got dinged up pretty bad. No blood; I think; just dislocations. How, how close are you to Carlinville Illinois?”

 

Caleb cursed softly and rubbed a hand down from the crown of his bald head to the nape of his neck.  “You’re in luck. I’m an hour out. You up there hunting that Jinn?”

 

John exhaled gratefully and told Caleb what motel he was staying in. He tensed up and hissed in pain when Caleb asked about the boys’ whereabouts.

 

“They’re, around. Just, get here as soon as you can. I can’t really move and about to black out again.”

 

“Hang tight John.” Caleb severed the call after hearing John’s affirmative grunt.  A few hours later upon arrival to the motel, Caleb knocked on the room door and didn’t receive an immediate response. He called through the door warning John he was coming in, twisted the knob and found the door unlocked.  He switched on the overhead light and surveyed the damage of the room quickly.  There was a lamp on the floor by the dresser, a huge, body sized dent in the wall, a smear of blood partially trailing down it, and just behind the bed upon the floor was a crumpled John Winchester.

 

Once at John’s side, Caleb felt for a pulse and could determine that the other hunter was just unconscious. Checking him over for injuries he quickly assessed that the split skin upon the crown of John’s head would require stiches, and possibly caused a concussion. There didn’t seem to be any other outward sign of distress and other than that and the dislocated shoulders, yet to fix those he needed John awake. Slightly gentle, Caleb smacked John’s right cheek and summoned him.

 

John grunted and opened his eyes, crying out in agony as he attempted to move his arms to fend off an attack.  Talking over his exclamations, Caleb managed to orient John to his presence and their eyes met.

 

“Glad to see you, man.”

 

“Same.” Caleb granted helping John sit up a little more.  “How in the hell did _both_ of your shoulders get dislocated at the same time?”

 

John’s expression fell.  “Fix ‘em and I’ll tell you.”  At least the partial truth that was. The only one of his three trusted fellow hunters and friends, that knew the complete truth about Sam was Reverend Jim Murphy. Bobby Singer knew half of the equation, but John didn’t wish to waste time thinking about the gruff, old man, right now. However, he was beginning to wonder if he should expand the secret to include Caleb as well. It was a painful process, but between John and Caleb they managed to get John to his feet and stabilized before Caleb popped the joints back into place.  John’s knees buckled at the pain, and once Caleb was finished John sat down upon the bed.  His vertigo was spinning as Caleb explained to him that he probably had a concussion, and went to dig the first aid kit out of John’s duffel bag so that he could stitch up the back of his head.  John held out an arm, whether to stop Caleb or deny the existence of the concussion neither man was certain of.

 

“Demon.” John grunted more than stated.

 

Caleb halted in his approach and studied John’s face until their eyes met and he addressed him.  “Holy Christ man! How are you still alive?”

 

John shook his head.  “It didn’t want to possess or kill me. I just surprised it is all.  Thing threw me across the room and high tailed it out of here.”  Not a complete lie; in fact, in John’s mind the explanation was factual. Sam was not exactly human having been tainted by human blood.  “Here, test me. Just to be sure.”

 

Caleb immediately was on guard and conducted the three tests hunters accepted worked to identify demons. John passed all of them with flying colors and John was surprised at how relieved he felt when Caleb was finished.

 

“So what now? We tackle the Jinn then go after the demon?”

 

John shook his head.  “Not much we can do to track the demon. I was just as surprised by it, as it was by me.  No, let’s focus on the Jinn. I know where it is, I was going after it before sunset. With you here it’ll be safer and faster to kill.” John tilted his head towards Caleb so the man could have more light shining upon the wound he was now stitching.  “I sent the boys over to Bobby Singer’s place. The Impala needed some repairs.”  Caleb wouldn’t have required the cover story, but John felt better for telling it in case the man wondered where Sam and Dean were in all of this.

 

“Yeah well, good thing you sent them instead of going yourself. Bobby ain’t too happy with you.”

 

“I know.” John tried not to flinch when the needle went just a little too deep into his flesh.  He found himself almost wishing Sam were here to stitch him up; the kid might be transcending into evil, but he sure knew how to suture precise as a surgeon.  “Had a temporary reprieve while Dean was holed up there.” John didn’t want to contemplate why, the knowledge of his eldest son’s shame crushing his heart with empathy.  “I might have to risk a visit though.”

 

“I’d call if I were you.” Caleb advised patting the fresh blood off the line of stitches with a gauze pad.  “He meant what he said about that shotgun.”

 

John huffed a laugh and turned his head to look up at his friend. “How the hell you know about that?”

 

“Simple,” Caleb said as if stating the obvious. “You’re not the only hunter that knows Bobby Singer, and he’s not the type to keep his dislikes to himself.” Caleb chuckled. “Jim told him to forgive and forget, but Bobby told him to ram it up his confessional.”

 

“That’s original.” John smirked and Caleb nodded.

 

“I’m your friend John, but Bobby? You need to give him his space. Let your kids deal with him, or just leave him phone messages. He’ll talk when he’s ready.”

 

John grunted in assent but he knew that he would need to talk to Bobby sooner rather than later. The grumpy man had the most comprehensive library upon demonology that John had ever seen.  If Sam was truly transforming into a demon, or whatever he was doing due to the demon blood in his veins; John needed to know about what to expect, and how to hunt and kill the youngest Winchester.  Dean would object of course, but John would have to be ready for that eventuality as well; therefore, he needed not only Bobby’s knowledge but Caleb’s restraint skills as well.

 

“Right. Now give me that whiskey will you, so I can dull some of this pain?”

 

Caleb shook his head and placed the whiskey bottle within John’s hand. “Not too much. Don’t want you any drowsier than you already are.”

 

John downed about three fingers before lowering the bottle from his lips. “Don’t think I’m gonna sleep for a while, Caleb.” How could he when Sam was a demon and Dean was obstinate and with him; somewhere John couldn’t track?

 

Yet.

 

John’s intel had been solid and it didn’t take the two hunters too long to put the Jinn down. It’s victims however were beyond saving and an anonymous call to the police from one of the last functioning pay phones on earth; was the best that either Caleb or John could grant them.  John was thankful that the monster went down fast; that meant that he could get a quick meal of greasy bar food in his stomach, down a few shots and catch a couple of hours of sleep before he hit the road once more.  Caleb left him to his meal and drinks, his rescue duties now officially at an end.

 

John barely managed to brush his teeth and pull off his clothes before he collapsed upon the queen-sized bed within his room.  Laying on his stomach he pulled the closest pillow under his chin, embraced it with one arm and allowed the other to touch the gun he had shoved under the opposite pillow.  His eyes slammed shut and he took a deep breath to ensure that the pillow wasn’t obstructing his breathing, before surrendering to sleep.  While he was truly worried about his eldest son’s safety, his body was shutting down and he accepted that he had to sleep before he collapsed and never rose again.  The one thing he had in his favor was that Sam seemed to love Dean with his entire heart, and that boded well for Dean’s survival at this point. Sam wouldn’t hurt him; and that would give John ample time to recharge his batteries and concentrate upon picking up their trail.  Knowing them they had most likely headed straight to Bobby’s first; blurted out their recollection of the incident and then left, rubber burning on the asphalt as they sped to their next hide away. Sam was a tricky little bastard, and if he didn’t want to be found, he was excellent at not only covering his tracks, but discovering places to shore up that weren’t easy to detect.

 

Dean would be in grunt mode and follow Sam’s lead without questioning. It wasn’t just the rape that now affected his eldest son as his cowing to Sam’s iron will was instinctive.  He had never could refuse Sam anything on a good day, let alone now that he was broken and a shell of his former confidence.  John had Jerry Simmons and Hank Willis to thank for that miserable gift.  They had stripped Dean of his confidence, sullied his masculinity and transformed him into a skittish ‘female’ with their abuse of him.  Dean didn’t flirt with women anymore; he didn’t date; and he sure as hell didn’t fuck and that was because of Jerry and Hank.  While John couldn’t predict what, the future would bring for his eldest son; his one-time pride and joy; he knew that time would change him still.  Dean didn’t like to be touched anymore by either gender and John wondered that if that inclination ever did fade, what sex he would bring to his bed. Had Jerry and Hank altered that too? Had they stripped Dean of his heterosexuality? Or had they killed all sexual inclinations within him at the infliction of their violence?  Was the Winchester line now at an end because of two hunters that couldn’t keep it in their pants when they saw a handsome young man?

 

_John had been friendly in the past with Jerry Simmons and Hank Willis prior to their attack upon his son.  He had bought them drinks, swapped hunting stories, played pool with them, and was friendly to them over the years.  They repaid his kindness by pushing his boy face down in the dirt and violating him so brutally they tore him inside.  John had located them once Dean was out of the hospital and recuperating at Bobby’s. They had not died pretty, but they sure as hell had died slow. Through his interrogation of them during their torture, John had ferreted out which one of them was the ring leader and which one of them was the subordinate.  Jerry had started the entire business and recruited Hank when they had become hunting partners three years prior.  Dean was not the first young man they had targeted; and per Hank the violating of males was recent, not something he enjoyed, but went along with because Jerry was going to rape the victims regardless.  The odyssey had begun with young women; much more exciting to Hank, but after nearly three years of that Jerry had grown bored. Males were more lively targets and drugging them had become necessary to ensure ‘compliance’. Jerry’s version of events didn’t differ from Hank’s except for that he didn’t beg for mercy until his cock had been flayed and cored like an apple.  That was his due after taunting John that Dean moaned like a bitch in heat when he was being speared by that very cock.  In the end their graves had been shallow and bodies burned, disappointing John that he didn’t feel more satisfaction at their passing._

 

Then again, vengeance reputedly left the last man standing feeling hollow.  John wondered what it might have felt like for Dean if he had permitted his fragile boy to face his rapists. He had made the correct decision in shielding Dean from that; the way Jerry related the evening in question, Dean might have believed that he had gone into the situation with open eyes and ‘asking for it’. Dean had enough to overcome without that weight hanging upon his shoulders. Wherever his eldest was now, John hoped that at the very least Sam was still taking care of him.

~~~~~

The days at the cabin were becoming shorter and cooler.  The Winchester brothers made a regular habit of star gazing in the evening, wrapped up in jackets and one another.  Their life remained nothing but simplified events; eating, sleeping, talking, goofing around, star gazing and relaxing. On occasion, there were times when Dean wanted to be alone during the daylight hours, either to take a walk or spend a little while up on the roof of the cabin. Sam was cognizant not to show any sign of disappointment but rather encouraged Dean to do whatever made him happy. He knew that his older brother was thinking quite a bit about the events of that night, as evidenced in his frequent zoning out and intermittent nightmares.  He also suspected that Dean was concerned and pondering just how he and Sam would function without their father in their lives any longer.  As always, he didn’t push Dean to speak but remained open and accessible for any topic his brother may raise.  There were times where he silently pleaded for his older sibling to engage him, and Dean surrendered often in those moments, holding Sam close and revealing secrets into his ear; few about the rape itself and only the aftermath. It didn’t take long for Sam to productively utilize the time he spent in his own company as well.

 

The headaches he had been experiencing were coming more frequently and with greater intensity than before.  In the beginning, he wished to hide his pain from Dean, yet quickly abandoned that practice when he saw just how upset Dean became when excluded from Sam’s trust.  The increased headaches were the symptom of something more sinister, and Sam’s suspicion grew that it had more to do with the demon blood pumping through his veins than it did any rare, neurological ailment. Thus, he began to sit with himself and explore his own mind whenever Dean sought alone time.  Recalling how he had thrown his father across the hotel room when furious, Sam sought to utilize his telekinetic ability while calm. At first he started small, concentrating upon objects such as pencils or the salt shaker on the kitchen table, yet quickly found such activity resulted in him feeling foolish and battling a migraine. The first-time Sam moved the kitchen table, he had been laying upon the couch only pondering the _idea_ of telekinesis mechanics. He was half in thought and half out when the sound of the table scraping across the floor roused him.  He abruptly sat up and stared in fear over the back of the couch and into the kitchen. The table that normally sat in the center of the kitchen area was now resting against the refrigerator door at the far wall.  Sam was stunned for a full three minutes before he elected to attempt to move the table back to its original place.  There were stops and starts but Sam discovered that if he didn’t think about moving it too hard, he could control the direction, speed, and distance above the floor surface with the table; and subsequent other objects; could be moved.  By the end of the week he was moving numerous pieces; both large and small; independently of one another and with little effort.

 

The telekinesis was only the beginning of Sam’s research into the talents of his own mind.  Quite by accident he discovered that he could produce a significant electric charge, that was not unlike a static shock in the winter; only several times more powerful.  He had been hiking down toward the lake looking for Dean to bring him back to the cabin for lunch, when an errant June bug homed in upon him.  The large beetle buzzed past Sam’s right ear and threatened to get tangled in his bangs.  Sam raised a hand to flit the bothersome creature away, when an arch of electricity shot from the center of his palm and the bug dropped to the ground dead.  Sam looked from his hand to the bug before squatting down to examine the creature. It was silent, still and Sam stood up quickly and searched for a new target; one that was preferably not alive.  He spent the next ten minutes learning to fire and control the electricity, by shocking rocks and dead leaves upon the ground. Smirking to himself he couldn’t wait to reveal to Dean that he was a human bug zapper. The mosquitoes that plagued them on the roof at night would have to beware. However, once he reached Dean by the lake his smile vanished and the giddiness at sharing his new ‘super powers’ faded.  Dean was crying and moving closer to the water’s edge, and Sam immediately went to his big brother’s aid; distractions of powers forgotten.

 

Next came the visions, and Dean was in Sam’s company when the first of them struck.  The eruption of the images was such a forceful punch to his mind that he was brought to his knees, senses exploding, and Dean franticly calling to him and grabbing him in his arms. The vision had been so overwhelming that Sam was dizzy, his nose bled and he fell onto all fours fearing he would vomit. He didn’t, but he was shaking with adrenaline and had to pull himself out of his own trauma to reassure Dean he was alright. As Sam clung to Dean in attempts to steady himself both emotionally and physically, he revealed the existence of his powers.  By the time he was finished blurting the words he was a sobbing mess of tears, snot, emotions, and head imploding anguish, pleading with his big brother not to shun him.

 

“It’s okay, Sammy. I got you Baby Boy.”

 

And just like that blindly accepted, Sam slumped within Dean’s arms relieved and exhausted.  Dean spent the next several minutes lugging Sam to the bedroom, putting him in bed, cleaning his face with a damp wash rag, taking off his shoes and socks, covering him with the bed sheets and retrieving an ice pack from the kitchen to put over his eyes and the bridge of his nose. A few minutes later he made a make shift one out of a Ziploc bag and the rest of the ice cubes in the tray, to place on the crown of Sam’s head.  He lay next to Sam and gently rubbed his chest and upper abdomen, soothing him with gentle words of reassurance and affection.

 

Sam never again kept his abilities a secret from his brother.

 

A few days later Sam opened the front door to the cabin to let some fresh air in, and somehow yanked it off the hinges. The detached door came at him full force, knocking him to the ground beneath it.  A sharp, squawk from him summoned a very frantic Dean to his side. Dean grabbed for the door to extract Sam from underneath, when his younger sibling shoved it casually to one side and reached out for Dean to help him stand up. Stunned, Dean obliged and a second later was on his knees groaning out in pain. Sam dropped the appendage like it was molten hot and stared horrified at his brother’s hand.  Twenty minutes later the door is rested against the wall along side of the empty door jam, and Dean sat upon the couch cradling his arm to his chest, a Ziploc bag full of ice Ace bandaged around it. He tentatively looked at Sam, who shrugged before shaking his head in disbelief.  Sam spent the rest of the day learning to harness and hone his super strength, while Dean convalesced before fixing the front door.

 

By dinner time Sam is nearly crawling out of his skin with anxiousness. While Dean didn’t indicate that he held Sam responsible for hurting him, he was quiet the remainder of the day and well into that evening. Sam continuously apologized to him and begged for forgiveness.  Finally, when the two were in bed together, Dean muttered, “C’mere,” and Sam plastered himself to his older brother, and rested his head upon his chest. Sam clung to Dean while his older sibling stroked his dark hair soothingly.

 

“Dean!”

 

“Shh. I know, Sammy. It’s all right. It blindsided me more than it hurts now so, we’re good. Okay?”

 

Sam pressed his face into Dean’s chest and burrowed against his brother, nearly climbing on top of him in his desperation to relieve his guilt. “I’d never hurt you on purpose. You know that, right? I’m not ever going to do that to you again, _ever_. I **swear**! I won’t!”

 

Dean kissed the crown of Sam’s head and held him tightly in return.  “I know, Baby Boy. I’m not afraid of that.”

 

“But you’re afraid of _me_.” Sam raised his head, eyes shining with unshed tears. “You’ve been inside your head all day, you didn’t want to star gaze tonight, and when we were on the couch you tensed whenever I moved. You didn’t want me touching you, De.”

 

Dean touched Sam’s face, his fingers stroked his little brother’s right eyebrow, before trailed up into the hair line, and pushed the dark hair back from his forehead. This done, he cradled Sam’s cheek within the palm of his uninjured hand.

 

“Calm down, Sammy. I didn’t want to go up on the roof because I was sore from earlier. I had just fixed the door and wanted to give my hand a chance to rest.  And I didn’t cuddle with you on the couch because, okay; yeah- my little brother is a freakin’ superhero now, and I’m just- “Dean paused and sought the correct wording, but his gaze dropped and Sam knew; just knew that Dean felt intimidated and insignificant due to the aftermath of the rape as well as Sam’s developed powers.

 

“Oh, Dean.” Sam pushed his cheek into Dean’s hand and locked gazes with him, touching Dean’s chin with his finger tips to instigate eye contact.  “You’re not, okay? Whatever you were just gonna call yourself, it’s not true.” He leaned forward slowly and placed a gentle kiss upon Dean’s forehead before withdrawing enough to see his brother clearly.  “I didn’t ask for these powers, and they don’t make me better than anyone else. I’m just, _different_. And until we find out if it’s the demon blood, or something else, I don’t want you to ever think that you’re not my hero. What’s inside me doesn’t make me special, it makes me a freak. And of the two of us you’re perfect, and beautiful and- I’m sorry Dean, but you’re just the best and you have to live with that for the rest of your life.”

 

Dean chuckled modestly, feeling the heat of a blush sweep over his skin.  “You’re not a freak, you’re a **_dork_**. God, Sammy; you must be overcompensating for crushing my hand, because that’s a bit over the top. And _waaay_ too girly.”  Dean smirked wickedly. “Even for you.”

 

Sam snorted indignantly then broke into quiet laughter as well.  “Shut your mouth.” Sam rolled his eyes. “Whatever.”

 

“Shhh.” Dean silenced tenderly and pulled Sam’s head down upon his chest. “Settle down so we can get some sleep. I’m tired.”

 

Sam ran a hand over Dean’s chest a little, smiling brightly, and closed his own eyes. “Okay, Dean. I love you, goodnight.”

 

“You too, Sammy. Night.”

~~~~~

While grocery shopping wasn’t the most interesting chore in the world Dean still made it barrable for Sam. Prior to the rape he had made lude comments and suggestions with produce or titles of items that could be considered risqué, but now his humor was more subdued. Sam was currently pacing the cereal aisle while Dean pushed the cart and hummed along to the nineties music the supermarket was piping out through its PA system. Sam was frustrated and it seemed like everyone and their brother were shopping and all speaking very loudly.  He rubbed his forehead and heard Dean talking to him.

 

“Hurry up Sammy. I want to get back to the cabin while it’s still warm so we can go swimming. Hurry up, hurry up, hurry up, c’mon for Christ’s sake!”

 

Sam sighed heavily, aggravation clear at Dean who was directly behind him; and scolded: “I’m going as fast as I can you dick, so stop pushing me!” He huffed dramatically and yanked a box of cereal off the shelf, glared at it and put it back just for spite. He wasn’t in the mood for Lucky Charms anyway. He was looking for something more-

 

“Oh shit.” Dean said still irritatingly near. “How the fuck did you hear that?”

 

“Because you’re right behind me asshole.” Sam chided before looking back over his shoulder. Surprisingly Dean wasn’t standing there. Instead he stood several meters away up the aisle from Sam, his plush lips slightly parted and features starkly pale. “ _That’s_ why!” Sam felt his stomach twist a little upon seeing Dean’s expression. “What?” He called up to him. How had Dean moved away so quickly without Sam hearing the cart or any other sort of movement?  Electing to return to his perusal of the cereal shelves Sam turned away.

 

Behind him he heard Dean swallow and start humming Metallica as he strode to where Sam stood. Hyper annoyed Sam rolled his eyes. “And stop humming, god Dean. What is with you insisting on standing on every one of my nerves today?” He rounded once again upon his brother. Dean had not moved an inch from where he previously stood.

 

“Sammy? Can you hear me?”

 

Dean’s lips hadn’t moved.

 

“Can you?”

 

“Yes.” Sam said allowed staring hard at Dean. Why weren’t his brother’s lips moving? Why was he hearing his voice so clear that he could swear his brother were speaking directly into his mind? Perhaps because he was. The shocking revelation was written all over Sam’s face and Dean ventured closer out of need to protect and comfort his younger sibling.  “But how? How can I when- “Sam’s question ended abruptly and Dean now stood before him.

 

“Is this another one of your super powers?” Dean’s tone was low, drew Sam in and thankfully Dean spoke aloud, lips moving over each word.

 

“I, I think so. I mean, I can read minds now?”  Absolute panic intermingled with extreme terror wrought Dean’s expression and Sam was quick to add. “But I would never, I mean, Dean no. Just like all the rest I just need a couple of hours to get a handle on this. Learn how to block other people and not see anything you don’t want me too.”

 

“Yeah, good.” Dean recited clearly unbelieving. He subconsciously took a step back from his brother and it broke Sam’s heart to see. Dean was terrified that Sam would learn of the sordid details of the rape and Dean wasn’t prepared for that inevitability. Control felt like it was once more being stripped from him and the threat of violation made his body vibrate and the need to escape Sam’s presence intensified.  “Until then I’ll just, uh; I’ll just keep my distance.”

 

“That would probably be good, yeah.” Sam agreed chest aching.  “Maybe give me the cash and I’ll finish shopping. Then I’ll call you to come pick me up.”

 

“Sounds good. Sure.” Dean dug the folded money out of his front jeans pocket and placed it in Sam’s hand, careful not to make skin contact of any type. He fled from Sam seconds later and made for the car only hesitating long enough to issue a perplexed and tender, ‘sorry’ before exiting the aisle leaving Sam alone. He wouldn’t drive far from the supermarket parking lot, but he would relocate himself and the Impala away from Sam.

 

Once in the car with the doors closed and locked Dean’s breath came in panicked gasps and he gripped the steering wheel for purchase in the moment.  His chest was heaving as if he had run all the way from their hidden cabin, down the mountain and into to town. He was sweating, his body shaking and he was terrified that Sam knew; had seen _everything_ Dean remembered and all the things he still suppressed. He couldn’t stand to sully his innocent little brother like that; couldn’t handle anyone; even Sam; knowing what happened that night.  Dean swallowed and tried to keep from shaking apart as the panic overtook him.

 

Inside the supermarket, Sam fought with himself to calm down. He had to find a way to shield himself from other people’s minds and he had to do it fast. Dean was depending on him and wouldn’t come near him until there were assurances that Sam wouldn’t accidentally pry where he was unwanted. He would never knowingly invade his brother’s privacy like that but for the moment he didn’t have much of a choice. The power was new in his arsenal and the sooner he mastered it the better for everyone.  As Sam walked through the aisles voices began to filter into his head and worked at blocking them, following them further inside the originating mind, until he felt what he was seeing was far too personal to pursue any further. Half an hour later when he was in check out Sam learned that some people’s thoughts were louder than others, more effortless to read as Dean’s had been. Most in fact however were quieter, he had to seek but they still filled the air in an open channel. Fortunately, in the cross section of the store’s shoppers and employee’s he had only experienced two people with the strength of Dean’s thoughts.  Sam texted Dean to come get him and waited another six minutes before the rumble of the Impala filled his ears. He didn’t ‘hear’ Dean though and that was good. Apparently, the person had to be near for him to be able to hear their thoughts. He had a headache from the intense concentration but that would fade.

 

For the next two days Dean was somewhat skittish around him and slept on the couch for the duration of those two nights. By the third day Sam promised Dean he knew how to control his ‘mind reading’. Tentative but accepting, Dean regained a little of his confidence and began sleeping in the same bed as Sam once again. As for guarding his thoughts it was an ongoing battle for him and testimony to Sam’s ability to control his super powers.  Soon enough the boys were back to their regular routine and just when Dean was becoming more comfortable with the existence of Sam’s abilities another one surfaced. Sam learned that he could push thoughts into another person’s head. A waitress at a restaurant gave them free desert and comped Sam’s meal because he wasn’t entirely happy with the selection. Dean stared in disbelief across the table at his brother as the waitress recited word for word what he and Sam had been wishfully discussing before she arrived.

 

“Dude,” Dean exhaled leaning forward over the table slightly towards Sam. “Did you just do that?”

 

“Do what?” Sam asked closing the distance and lowering his voice so only Dean could hear him.

 

“Get the waitress to give us free food?”

 

“I, I think I kinda did.”

 

Dean sat back in the booth. “Great, now you can manipulate people to your will.”

 

“No!” Sam exclaimed reaching across the table and nearly grabbing Dean’s wrist until he remembered not to and stopped himself and clutched thin air. “I’m not going to do that. This was an accident. I didn’t know I was capable of it, but now that I do- Dean, this isn’t something I want to play around with. Just like the super strength and the zapping thing; this is potentially dangerous.”

 

Dean nodded agreeing and took Sam’s hand in his own, grateful that his little brother hadn’t made him flinch in reaction to such an abrupt touch. “Yeah? But free pie is still kinda cool.”

 

Sam rolled his eyes. “Of course, you would think that.” He playfully tugged his hand free of Dean’s grip. “This is a onetime occurrence so don’t get used to it.”

 

It took a couple of days for Sam to get a firm hold of his pushing abilities. He practiced on Dean; with permission; out of necessity before going into town and trying harmless mind pushes there.  Those experiments were extremely successful and he did feel guilty getting some free groceries out of the deal.  The best news was that Dean seemed to feel a little more comfortable around him and for this Sam was immensely thank full.

 

A week later Dean was at the river’s edge watching the sunrise. He could barely feel the warmth of the sun’s first rays upon his cheeks, his gaze drinking in the pinks, oranges, yellows and blues of the early morning sky.  His chest was tight, the pain locked within it like shards of glass tearing him away cut by cut. He knew that Sam was right about talking. Not communicating verbally about the rape to Sam, or anyone; was killing him. He recognized less and less of himself as time passed. While he adored being alone with Sam in the mountains they couldn’t hide there forever. One day the Hunter who owned the property would return, and John would be calling them demanding they join him on the road.  Life continued and every morning there was a new sunrise to enjoy by the river bank.  Dean wanted to hide, to forget; to just deny anything was wrong but it was increasingly impossible.

 

Sam awoke in a warm nest of sheets and a blanket, Dean’s scent heavy upon the pillow case scrunched up beneath his right cheek. Groggy, Sam raised his head and looked around the room and blinked a few times to clear his vision of sleep.

 

“Dean?”

 

The white noise was deafening and panic blossomed within Sam’s nervous system. “Dean?” The sound of his own voice was frantic as Sam threw back the covers and nearly fell over in his haste to leave the bedroom in search of his brother. He called to Dean frequently but there was no response as he checked each room. Bladder screaming at him he momentarily abandoned his search and it was when he lifted the toilet lid that he saw the short note taped onto the bottom of the seat.

 

_Watching sunrise._

_Will make breakfast when I get back._

_D_

 

Sam threw on jeans, one of Dean’s tee shirts and a hoodie before he grabbed his boots and headed down the deer path away from the cabin in the direction of the lake. He pulled up short seeing Dean at the water’s edge, the overwhelming feeling of despair washing over him like the first rays of the sun warmed his face.  He knew he was interrupting Dean’s contemplation, but the sorrow coming off him was enough to spurn Sam past his guilt of interruption and made enough noise as he walked to the bank’s edge to announce his approach. Dean gazed up affectionately at him, the darkness of his heart immediately replaced by the swell of love he felt for his little brother and Sam had to smile as well.

 

“Hey.” He greeted as he sat down alongside of his older sibling. “I found your note. And I know you came out here to be by yourself- “

 

“Not really.” Dean admitted turning his gaze back out to the water. “I just, didn’t want to contaminate you with my thoughts. With all your super powers now, I didn’t want to chance it that you could read my emotions like you can my thoughts or something.” Dean shrugged partially and then met Sam’s gaze.  “And yeah, I know you promised you have it under control but, accidents happen and I just didn’t want you to feel like shit if you happened to read something.”

 

Sam nodded and sat back upon his heels placing a hand upon Dean’s head and petting him affectionately. “I’d never want to hurt you or disappoint you like that, De. That’s why I never looked even before I could.”

 

Dean grinned. “Except when you bitched at me in the super market.”

 

Sam laughed and carded his fingers from the crown of Dean’s head to the edge of his hair line above his brow.  “Exception not the rule.” He nudged Dean with the hand that had previously been in his hair. “You know I would never do that again.”

 

“I know.”

 

“I like when you tell me things.” Sam watched Dean’s profile carefully. “Even if it’s something that hurts you.”

 

Dean nodded and slowly turned from looking at the river to Sam’s gold tinged gaze. “I can’t forget that it happened. Sometimes here; with you; like this? I don’t think about it for a little while. But it never lasts long and I feel so fucking toxic. Like I’m contaminated and anything that’s pure; like you for instance; if I’m not careful I’ll corrupt you with the darkness.”

 

Sam sighed sympathetic and repositioned himself to mirror Dean’s posture. He placed an arm around his older brother and rested his head upon Dean’s shoulder.  “That darkness? Is just the pain you’re holding. The pain they inflicted when they hurt you like that. It’s not contagious Dean. Once you start letting me in, you’ll see. I can help you. All you have to do is talk to me.”

 

Dean closed his eyes and moistened his lips before saying, “It’s bad Sammy.”

 

“I know. You’ve said.” Sam rubbed Dean’s back with his warm palm and nuzzled up into his neck to whisper in his ear, “But I can handle it. Let me carry half of it for you. Just like you carry things for me.”

 

Dean slung the arm between them around Sam and pulled him close. As he clung to his little brother he inhaled his scent and believed for the first time that perhaps Sam was right; perhaps he could handle it. He squeezed Sam tightly and as he pulled back to consider his sweet expression, Dean stroked Sam’s cheek with the fingertips of his opposite hand.

 

“I fucked up. I ignored everything Dad taught us about drinking with strangers, because these two guys were hunters.” Dean paused, lowered his hand and pressed his forehead to Sam’s and closed his eyes, while his opposite hand clenched in the back of Sam’s shaggy, chestnut hair.  “I thought I was safe. I let my guard down. And they drove me to some secluded place and- “He faltered and opened his eyes to glance at the sunrise and the water beside them.  “Sex has never hurt like that.” Dean took a deep breath and continued to press his forehead to Sam’s.  “I felt the tearing; it was too much. So, wrong and I couldn’t get away. I couldn’t focus my eyes, I couldn’t get him off me, and it hurt so fucking bad there I thought I was dying. I really did.” Dean swallowed and pulled back to look at Sam. There were tears in both their gazes and it touched Dean to see that. “He weighed like a ton. I couldn’t shake him off. And the other one,” Dean paused and swallow. “I couldn’t breathe around him. I was choking but they didn’t care. They just kept…kept going.”

 

A renegade tear slid down Sam’s cheek as he opened himself up to his brother’s words and emotions. The only thing he blocked was the thoughts going through Dean’s head. Those he saw in technicolor for his verbal descriptions as it was. He swallowed and touched Dean’s chest just below his throat with his hands.

 

“There was nothing anyone could have done in that situation. Not even Dad. They would have still done what they did to you and the result would have been the same.” Sam knew he had said the right thing by the expression upon Dean’s features. “Understand?”

 

Dean nodded and began to cry as he leaned forward and pressed his lips to Sam’s tear trail before throwing his arms around him and holding him tightly.  “I can still feel them. I want it to stop Sammy. I want it to just **_stop_**.”

 

“I know, De.” Sam said voice tremoring. “I’ll help you. I promise.” He held Dean’s face so that it would be in the crook of his shoulder and throat. “Just smell me, okay? I’m the only one touching you right now. Everything is okay. It’s just you and me. Alright? Just feel my hug, smell my skin and you know it’s me.”

 

Dean did as he was told and burrowed his face against Sam even as his tears continued flowing and grieving sobs rattled in his chest. He listened to Sam’s direction as if it were gospel and cried until his tears when dry and his voice horse. He wiped Sam’s neck of moisture and snot before pulling away fully and apologizing. Sam laughed a little at being covered in tears but didn’t mind the rest either and told his brother so.

“It’s okay De. I’m wash and wear.” Dean laughed at that despite his tears and he nodded.

 

“I couldn’t do this without you Sammy.” Dean stated in all seriousness and Sam’s smile instantly vanished.  “If I didn’t have you, I’d be long dead.”

 

“Don’t say that Dean. _Please_. It scares me when you say things like that. You’re not alone, I’m here and we’re going to get through whatever life throws at us. We need each other, right? You and me against the world; going down swinging and hoping to leave beautiful corpses.”

 

Dean chuckled and yanked Sam into another crushing embrace and he placed a smattering of kisses upon the side of Sam’s face before settling into the embrace and nuzzling into the softness of Sam’s hair.  “No other way for a Winchester, Baby Boy.” He kissed Sam a few more times and glanced at the water.  “You know, if we wouldn’t freeze to death I’d say we should take a leap into the river.”

 

Grinning mischievously Sam pulled back and locked gazes with his brother.  “Let’s do it. I think it’s worth the risk?”

 

“Yeah?” Dean asked surprised.

 

“Hell yeah.” Sam responded standing up to kick off his shoes. Dean looked from the rushing water to his little brother.

 

“You’re crazy, Sammy. Just crazy enough to be right.” He winked at Sam and rose to begin undressing as well.

 

Within short seconds the pair were naked and whooping in the chilly water, splashing one another and feeling alive. To keep warm they swam and, played tag and raced one another until the sun was well up in the morning sky. Shaking like frightened rabbits they climbed back up the bank and made a mad dash to their clothing.  Sam could feel that Dean was more at peace than he had been previously and hoped; as difficult as it was for them both; that his older brother would talk to him again regarding the rape.  In order to heal it was precisely what Dean needed.

~~~~~

 

As Summer ended the Winchester brothers knew that the time was coming where they would have to move on from their cabin escape. Neither of them was particularly enthusiastic about the spending a winter in the mountains. Sam had trained with his new-found powers over the course of their stay, and both had kept up with their Hunting skill set. It wasn’t that they hadn’t wished to be Hunters, more like that Dean needed to recuperate somewhat from his trauma. When the time came to pack up the Impala and leave, both brothers were pensive and silent.  They hugged one another as if they were parting company, and Sam whispered a promise to Dean that he still had his back and was ‘here’ for him whenever he wished to talk, or not talk. This granted him a chuckle and a teary expression from his older sibling.

 

The first hour of the drive was silent. They had chosen a destination the previous night Sam and Dean both pouring over internet news to find a potential case. They settled on one in Arkansas. It was something that their father would leave to other Hunters and for now that was still important. Dean was not prepared to face John and Sam still seethed bitterly about what he had done to Dean the last time the three of them were together so many months ago.  A part of Sam would be perfectly content never to see the man again in his lifetime, but it was ultimately up to Dean when and whether they interacted with John Winchester. While Dean harbored love and respect for the man Sam did most reservedly not.


End file.
